


Dog Days

by pennynever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, I Tried And That's All That Matters, Post-Sirius Black in Azkaban, Sort of AU, follows along the plot of PoA and possibly beyond, reader is a 7th year gryffindor AND a dog person? what kind of ambiguity is THAT, the timeline is weird, we love flea-ridden animagus sirius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-09-02 14:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16788676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennynever/pseuds/pennynever
Summary: You're a 7th year Gryffindor who, after 7 years of enduring boarding school life surrounded by drama and raging hormones, takes solace in your quiet lunches nestled comfortably by the forbidden forest. When you sit down to eat and study in peace, like you've done almost everyday before, you don't expect to be visited by the ominous looking dog that makes its way out of the bushes just to beg for food off of you, and you certainly don't expect to end up assisting him in catching the man who framed him for murder, either.





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having to think of a title for this never once crossed my mind when I was possessed by some unidentified demon that forced me to write the 35 page outline that this story has, so while Dog Days isn't really accurate (unless maybe in the literal sense...?) We'll have to work with it, pardonne-moi.
> 
> Also, I never post the stories I write online and typically keep them to myself solely for the fact that i'm incredibly embarrassed by the idea of other people reading them, so I hope this isn't too terrible and that you don't come away from it thinking you've wasted your time!

After your 5th year as a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the routine of boarding school life quickly began to lose its appeal. As a student with both a witch and a muggle for a parent, the idea of one day becoming a talented witch like your mother had never once lost its appeal, and the presence of magic within your life was nothing short of, well, magical. But having to learn in a place where you're surrounded 24/7 by raging hormones and everyone you know is going through their awkward teen years right by your side was perhaps the worst part of it. Getting time alone was a rarity, but eventually you figured out how to resolve it.

Lunch in the Great Hall was almost completely optional, if you were hungry you went and if you weren’t you’d find something to do for the hour. So you, desperate for some ounce of solitude within the walls of what you considered your second home, would stop by the Great Hall at the start of your lunch hour, tuck a few sandwiches and snacks into your bag, and find yourself a spot under your favorite tree that was nestled between the greenhouses and the Whomping Willow (but not nearly close enough to accidentally lose a limb) and far enough away from the stress of classes and the drama that seemed to follow your fellow students.

When your friends started taking notice of your absence, they didn’t seem to have any complaints about your new lunch plans; and aside from making you promise that if something dragged you off into the Forbidden Forest and you never returned they’d get to keep your stuff, they weren’t too bothered. You were a Gryffindor after all, wasn’t being a little reckless in your nature? You reckoned that some of your teachers even caught on as well, and at some point during your 6th year you swore you spotted Dumbledore winking at your from across the teacher’s table when he spotted you stuffing a bunch of grapes into your bag before disappearing out of the castle.

Now in your 7th year, your hour of solitude is a solid part of your daily routine at Hogwarts, and almost every day you find yourself sitting there, taking in the beauty of the school’s grounds and catching up on your studies.

Like any other day before it, you sit comfortably within the shade that the tree offered; head buried in your Transfiguration notes as you put the finishing touches on them while the information is still fresh in your mind. It’s halfway through the hour when you absentmindedly reach for a sandwich within your bag that you hear a rustling come from the bushes that line the outskirts of Hogwarts and separate it from the thick greenery of the Forbidden Forest. You freeze, looking up from your book and towards the woods you sat so close to. There’s no movement despite the noise that you _swear_ you just heard, and you wonder to yourself if it was just a figment of your imagination, since you’ve never heard of anything straying so close to the school grounds in the middle of the day, at least not recently.

You strain to hear for any other sounds, but you’re met with nothing but silence. With this year’s introduction of Dementors lurking around the school’s perimeter, maybe sticking to your usual plans of sitting so far away from the confines of the school was a bad idea. Still, you’re curious. Your eyes stay locked on the bushes, waiting for a sign of any possible movement and a thought pops into your head. Slowly, you pull out the sandwich you were originally reaching for, and as soon as you do, the rustling begins again, and this time, you see eyes; big, unnaturally gray eyes staring at you from within the bush.

A normal person, or maybe you on a good day would say, _“Hell no!”_ at this and run away like someone who actually cared if they made it to their next class alive or not, but for some reason this isn’t the case for you. You narrow your eyes, leaning forward slowly in hopes of catching a better glimpse of whatever’s watching you. As soon as you move closer, it responds by moving back and disappearing into the green and out of your sight. You’re insistent nonetheless, tucking your legs under and kneeling so you can stretch out your hand, this time with the sandwich you hold dangling from your fingers as an offering to whatever it is that seems so interested in it. With the clicking of your tongue, you beckon it closer, and with great satisfaction, it works. From within the bush comes forward a large black beast, what you could only assume is some type of dog, though you’ve never seen a breed that looked like that before. It doesn’t seem comfortable coming too close, so you decide to not be cruel and that seeing it was enough, so you toss the sandwich a few feet away from it. It doesn’t waste any time, bounding from the safety of the bush and eagerly devouring the sandwich you’ve offered. You feel relieved when it looks back up at you as you sit back into your previous position. It looks a lot less threatening as it begins to wag its tail at you, sitting on its haunches and staring at you with an expectant look in its eyes.

“Looks like somebody knows how to get what they want.” you grin at the sudden shift in its demeanor, and open your bag to pick out the other half of the sandwich. This time when you throw it, it catches the food in its mouth. The massive dog makes it way closer to you hesitantly and it’s careful to not get too close, but seems curious to see if you had any more food you might be willing to part with.

“Come on,” You pat the ground beside you. “You’re only getting food if you come here, buddy.” You say it as gently as you can, and it might also be the same tone of voice you use when speaking to your four year old nephew, but the dog doesn’t need to know that. It looks at you, awfully unamused for a dog. You frown. A tough nut, eh?

“If you don’t come here, I won’t bring you as many sandwiches I can carry without getting weird looks tomorrow.” You say. He’s by your side before you can even blink.

With a winning grin, you let out a laugh at his behavior. You’ve never met a dog that seemed to understand every word out of your mouth, but you’re not about to complain. You take a wild guess that it’s a male based on his stature, and decide to roll with it, since he doesn’t look willing to let you check to confirm. Once you give him a good scratch behind his ears, he’s putty in your hands, wagging his tail and twitching his leg and sticking his tongue out in pure happiness. He’s grimy and kind of smells, but you can’t help but feel bad for him, he looks like he hasn’t eaten in days, and seems to welcome any kind of attention with open arms- er, paws, like he’s never been treated so well before. It’s a good thing you’re a dog person, because you’re probably going to have to shower after sitting so close to him.

As you observe him, you think back to one of your first Divination lessons, when Professor Trelawney had explained the horrors of the Grim with fear in her voice, a creature that came in the form of a large black dog and brought with it the omen of death to those who crossed its path. You have to admit, the description seems on the nose- but an omen of death? Not likely.

"I don’t have anything else besides a few crisps and an apple. But dogs can eat apples, can’t they? And I do happen to toss a crisp or two to my dog back home on the occasion, so you’ll be fine, right?” You ask, and you definitely aren’t expecting a response, but when he barks, you can’t help but think it’s his way of agreeing with you. You give in and set all the remaining food in your bag onto the ground for him, you even crack open your half empty water bottle, pouring it out for him to drink like a person drinking straight from the faucet. When your lunch hour is almost up, he’s practically draped across your lap, welcoming your scratches and pets. It’s hard to imagine that just a few minutes ago he was creeping his way out of the bushes looking at you like you were his next meal.

Unfortunately, being so far from the castle meant you had to start the trek back early in order to get to your next class on time. You’re forced to move him off of you to stand, and the pitiful whimper he lets out is almost compelling enough to make you miss your next class, but not compelling enough to stop you; you’ve got way too many N.E.W.T. levels on your plate to start slacking now.

“I’m sorry, you scruffy boy. I’ve got classes to get to, or else when I graduate I’m gonna end up having to beg off of poor unsuspecting students like you are.” He huffs in your face. You grimace. “I deserved that. But if you’re back here tomorrow, this bag will be filled to the brim with sandwiches, all with your name on it, ‘kay?” His tail wags at the mention of food, and you feel satisfied with that being your answer. “Maybe we should figure out a name for you, huh? Or maybe I should just stick with Scruffy, it’s accurate enough and you won’t be able to stop me.” He barks, but does it mean he’s opposed to that name or not? You don’t bother dwelling on it- because you've already decided you're sticking with Scruffy. With once last pet to his head, and one bump of his head against the palm of your hand, you head off back into the castle, with your first destination being the bathroom to wash your hands.

***

The next day, one of your friends can’t help but ask you if you’re feeling okay, watching with worry as you continue to pack your bag full of an alarming amount of sandwiches. You laugh, brushing them off with ease. Of course you’re okay. _Superrrr_ hungry, though! You don’t stick around to see if they’re convinced, bounding towards the door and practically running back to your spot under the tree.

As soon as you hit the ground, the black mass of a dog is making his way to your side with long strides, his nose going straight for the bag that you haven’t even taken off your shoulder. You wonder if he was waiting for you, or maybe he stayed there the whole night. He doesn’t seem any different than the day before- just a lot more comfortable around you. You pour the sandwiches out, your books flying out with them (you were planning on taking them out, anyway. You just wish there wasn’t lettuce stuck in the dust jacket of your Herbology book.)

“Alright,” you start, and from the pile of sandwiches that he’s happily eating away at, Scruffy’s eyes look up at yours, a sign that his attention is on you. “I was thinking about it last night, and it seems awfully strange for a stray dog to be wandering around the grounds. I’m shocked you haven’t attracted any Dementors, if I’m being honest. They seem so hell-bent on catching Sirius Black that they’re willing to attack anything with a pulse if there’s a chance it could be him.” Scruffy is frozen mid-chew, his eyes, which were once fully focused on you, have now moved to stare at the ground. If it were any other dog, you wouldn’t acknowledge it, but so far within your one-and-an-almost-half short meetings, you’ve come to realize that this was no regular dog. Was there another type of magical dog you have never heard of? Or maybe he’d been charmed to understand the human language by a previous owner; but if he was someone’s pet, why was he by himself, and in such ill shape?

“Hey…” You reach out to gently rub his ear, and he looks at you again with those damn eyes that you swear are not normal for the average dog. “Do you not like Dementors?” A low whimper escapes his mouth, and you can’t help the slightly patronizing _“awe…”_ that escapes yours. You pull him in for a hug, patting his neck when he lays his head across your shoulder. “You don’t have to be scared, once they catch Sirius Black, they’ll all be gone, okay?” For some reason that doesn’t cease his whimpers, and instead causes him to whine even more against you. Maybe he was against the death penalty? After a few minutes of lying against your shoulder, with you mindlessly petting his back in the hopes of calming him down, he moves away, choosing to drown his doggy sorrows in the remaining sandwiches on the ground. You have some trouble just brushing off his reaction to Dementors, but you choose to not dwell on it and use this as the opportunity to finally get some of your homework done. The remainder of your lunch is spent sitting in silence, Scruffy eventually curling as closely to your side as such a large dog can, allowing you to pet him while you work.

***

A majority of the hour passes by without you even noticing it, and it seems Scruffy feels the same, stretching out and looking up at you with the most powerful puppy dog eyes such an intimidating dog can manage.

“I see you, and I’m sorry, but that’s just not going to work on me.” You shake your head at his attempts to convince you. As you pack your books away, ignoring his pleading looks to get you to stay, a thought pops into your head. Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant if you wanted you could go to Hogsmeade.

Hogsmeade was one of those things you looked forward to during your time at Hogwarts. Having a witch for a mother meant you could go any time you wanted during your breaks, but not having your parents with you to control what you can and cannot buy made the trips you took during the school year all the more enticing.

But you’re a 7th year, and you’ve had plenty of times in the past to go and bask in the glory that was Honeydukes’ endless inventory of confections that left you a little more broke each time you went. Not only that, but with most students -aside from first and second years- out at Hogsmeade, and the teachers most likely remaining in their respective classrooms to grade work, it left with you a practically empty school to do what you want, which meant you could spend more time with the freeloading stray dog you’ve already grown so fond of.

You bring up the idea to Scruffy, who seems to be listening to you very intently as you begin to explain the upcoming trip and the absence of most of the students as a result.

“Barely anyone will be in the castle!” He seems to brighten at the opportunity. “That means I can hang out with you for as long as you want, _and_ get you any food a dog might possibly dream of from the kitchen without any prying eyes!” He seems quite eager about the whole thing, so you decide to leave it at that and say goodbye for the day.

When you get a far enough distance away to be assured you wouldn’t have to break out into a run to reach Herbology on time, you turn back around to find Scruffy gone, having already made his way back into the forest. You wave anyway, hoping he can see you as you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if it's obvious (or if it will be) but I'm taking a few creative liberties here when it comes to the timeline of PoA and some of the specifics of it, so the time between certain scenes and so on might be a bit different. I haven't read the book in years and while I'm mostly writing this with the movie in mind since I've seen it so many times, there will probably be some bits that I remember from the book mixed in. Anything else relating to classes and specifics about attending Hogwarts are probably not super correct despite the lengths I've been going to in hopes of keeping things accurate. If you're a superfan who's well versed in the ins and outs of the Hogwarts curriculum please bestow your powers upon me, oh great one.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the Hogsmeade trip arrives, and you're excited to spend the day with Scruffy, but things don't go as you plan.
> 
> What do you expect? You're the one who made lunch arrangements with a dog, weirdo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another episode of Obvious Things Being Obvious And You Somehow Not Getting It, starring You and featuring Me, as the author who tries really hard sometimes to be funny and hopes that someone laughs (with me, not at me.) With an exclusive appearance by Many, Many Plot Conveniences.
> 
> Also, today's my birthday! And my dog's birthday! Aaaaand it's also a month after Sirius' birthday as well! Happy belated birthday to Snuffles, who is absolutely alive right now and thriving along with Remus Lupin and Co.
> 
> P.S. Thank you so much to everyone who has given kudos, bookmarked, and even just clicked this story! It may not seem like much to some, but considering how nervous I was about posting this in the first place, seeing those little numbers rise makes me feel really happy.

When Saturday arrives, you practically fly out of bed; rushing through getting ready and speeding through your usual study session with your fellow 7th year Gryffindors who are suffering through as many N.E.W.T. classes as you are (who have plenty of objections about how early you woke them for something so dreaded.) It’s silly, and you chide yourself for it a bit, but the change of pace that keeping the company of such a strange dog has caused seems to make all the usual requisites of each day much more tolerable. It’s nice to have something new to look forward to, and Scruffy doesn’t seem to have any objections so long as your company involves food. 

When breakfast is over and the first groups of the students start to leave, you feel it’s safe enough to sneak down to the kitchens without someone catching you. You’ve done it plenty of times before and have seen plenty of others do it so there’s the possibility that the teachers know and simply don’t care, but maybe it’s the sneaking factor of it all that makes it all the more entertaining.

Hufflepuff students leaving their dormitory pay you no mind as you walk down the basement’s staircase; they’ve seen so many people outside of their housemates come and go to get to the kitchen that they aren’t the least bit surprised by a Gryffindor passing through. You tickle the right pear on the right painting and breeze through the door when it appears, and at the sight of you entering a house-elf by the name of Barley, the same one who’s helped you through many late night hunger pangs before, asks what you’re looking for. When you start listing things like whole steaks, he seems a little apprehensive; but when you put on your best smile and say please with the perfect amount of sincerity, he happily obliges, though the other house-elves within the kitchen are giving you some questioning looks at the possibility of you having such a carnivorous diet.

After he packs all the food away in a bag, you take it and place it in your own, thanking him dearly and setting off to find Scruffy.

Another group of students is leaving for Hogsmeade when you exit the castle, and you wave to a few other 7th years as they walk past you. You hesitate as they go by, feeling a bit conflicted; maybe you should just go with them, and actually hang out with people your age who are of the same species as you instead of spending your day keeping the company of a random dog. You might be losing your mind, or maybe it already left when you first started striking up conversations with an animal, but you decide to stick to your plans and continue on towards your destination.

You hum as you drop your bag down by the tree and observe the area with your hands on your hips. Scruffy is nowhere to be seen, and after standing for another minute, there’s still not a single noise or sign of movement to indicate he’s loitering around the bushes. With one fleeting glance back to your bag to make sure this isn’t just some ploy from the dog to come and steal it and all of its contents, you make your way over to investigate. You’re not about to risk it and walk straight into the Forbidden Forest, but no one ever said you couldn’t take a peek. You push away branches and thickets that get in your way and nearly trip into the undergrowth as you stand on your tippy toes to get a good look further inside. You don’t dare walk any further, and it doesn’t seem like it’d be worth it, since you don’t see any signs of a demonic looking flea-ridden dog lingering around.

You walk back to your bag with a nonplussed expression on your face. You don’t exactly know what the right way to react is. You can’t really expect so much from a random dog and think that he’d keep to the plans you made with him, because the keyword here is _dog_. But you’re also worried. He seemed so willing to let you bring him food and pamper him the day before that it does seem a bit odd that he isn’t here today. The Forbidden Forest is full of dangers, and you hope he hasn’t encountered any of them since your last meeting...

You groan. Unfortunately, you know yourself too well, and it’s clear that you won’t be able to just brush this off. The sensible part of you is well aware that if you run you can probably still make it to one of the last carriages heading to Hogsmeade and make the most of the day with your friends, but your legs are already moving on their own accord, ready to set off and go looking for that damned dog.

***

You must admit, if there’s anything the day has brought you, it’s the excuse of getting some exercise in the form of searching for a dog, a dog that you barely know; a dog that isn’t even yours! You’ve looked everywhere, and thinking about it only makes you want to slap yourself at the sheer ridiculousness of what you’re doing. From your usual tree and all the way back again, you wandered the whole perimeter of the Forbidden Forest that bordered the school, even going so far as to stop by the gates to see if he was attempting to beg for food off the students coming and going to Hogsmeade.

With a tired exhale of breath, you stand with your back against the tree, sliding down to sit on the grass before you officially call it a day. It’s evident that Scruffy isn’t going to show any time soon, so you pull out some parchment from your bag and scribble a quick apology note to Barley about not being able to use the food, and hope that he can find a use for it and that the house elves can enjoy it instead. You place it on top of the food that you’d been saving for Scruffy, and with the tap of your wand against it, it’s sent back to the kitchens.

When the food is gone, you lean your head back with a loud _thunk_ against the bark, lazily staring at the castle as you regain the mental fortitude it requires to go inside for the day. But when you see something dart out from one of the open windows on the lower level of the castle, your brain starts to work a little faster. You blink rapidly upon realizing what you’re actually looking at.

You scramble to stand, watching in shock as you watch Scruffy of all things run across the grounds and go straight past you, heading right for the entrance to the Forbidden Forest that lies further up ahead near the Whomping Willow.

What. The. Hell.

You don’t hesitate, not caring if anyone hears you as you shout out his name, the one you’d given him just a few days ago. He skids to a stop, head swinging around and eyes landing on you. You throw your arms out in confusion, your face reading quite plainly, _“What in Godric’s name are doing? And where the hell have you been?”_ Something that even a normal behaving dog would probably understand. His head turns to look back at the castle, and then back at you for one fleeting moment before he continues to run as fast as he can, leaping his way into the forest and disappearing out of sight, leaving you completely bewildered.

You scoff as you continue to stare in pure disbelief. The absolute _gall_ of that mangy dog! You wasted the entire day looking for him (though you admit you didn’t _have_ to, but that’s neither here nor there); your feet hurt and your jacket isn’t even keeping you warm anymore after spending so much of your day outside, all because you were worried about where he could’ve been and what might’ve happened to him, only to find that the entire time you’d spent doing so he was meandering around the damn _castle_? How did he even get inside? And why was he bounding away like he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be?

Part of you wants to follow him, but you’re done listening to the part of your brain that’s telling you to let your life be controlled by a random dog. You care, sure. And are you curious? Immensely. But you aren’t about to get trampled to death by centaurs to get answers.

As you make your way back to the castle and onto the path leading to the main courtyard, you squeeze your eyes shut in exasperation. You try not to dwell on how poorly your day has gone and how much you wish you went to Honeydukes and allowed yourself to succumb to a sugar induced coma, but even then you can’t even be allowed to wallow in your self-pity, because you’re thrown from your thoughts when you roughly bump into the back of another person going the same way as you.

You let out a small “oof,” at the contact, and an apology tumbles from your lips before you even realize who it is. A longer, much more sincere one escapes soon after they turn around and you’re faced with Professor Lupin, who seems unbothered by you smacking right into him due to your own unawareness.

“Are you alright? I think the force of your impact might’ve injured you more than me!” His voice is light, and you can sense a bit of teasing in his tone.

You grin up at him sheepishly. “I’m fine- but are you? I swear I usually have better depth perception than that. Sometimes I even look where I’m going, too.”

He chuckles. “Yes, yes. I’m quite alright. [Y/N], isn’t it?”

You nod; impressed that he can remember the names of his students off the top of his head. You’re awfully glad it was him you bumped into and not someone like Professor Snape, who probably would be taking away house points for just being a Gryffindor and breathing within five feet of him.

“You’re a 7th year, correct? I would’ve assumed you’d be at Hogsmeade with the rest of the students in your year; I’ve only seen a handful still remain on the grounds today.”

Your original smile falls into one that isn’t as convincing. “Oh, you know- I’ve been so many times that I don’t really feel too bad about missing a trip or two anymore. I actually… had plans. With a friend. I spent most of the day looking for him, but apparently he had better things to do because he sorta blew me off.”

There’s a look in his eyes that makes you think he isn’t fully convinced with your explanation, one brow cocked up as you tell him why you stayed behind. But you did tell him the truth; albeit a diluted version that leaves out the fact that your friend is actually a mangy dog who is seriously doubting your ability to hold a petty grudge if he shows up tomorrow still expecting you to be toting around extra food just for him. Obviously you don’t include that. Lupin is a good teacher; you don’t want him resigning on the grounds that some of his students are loons and he can’t work in such an environment.

“Well, I’m sorry your plans didn’t work out. It does seem that those who went to Hogsmeade are starting to return now, so maybe you should check and see if he decided to go instead? If he doesn’t make an appearance, please let me know; with there being a killer on the loose we really can’t afford to lose track of the whereabouts of our students.”

You’re appreciative when it comes to the care he clearly has for his students, but if only he knew the truth. You sure do hope that your _friend_ wasn’t anywhere near Hogsmeade during the time that you couldn’t find him, but you’re not sure if that’s any worse than him being inside the castle, which you still can’t begin to understand. You half expected to find an angry Filch hanging out of the window that he jumped out of, shaking his fist at Scruffy’s retreating form, yet no one came running after him, which makes you wonder if anyone saw him there in the first place. You hope no one did, because not only would a giant dog running down the hallways be a catastrophe waiting to happen, but you’re also not sure how many people would be willing to humor a hungry dog that resembles a Grim so closely. Maybe growing up with a large muggle presence in your life made you a bit of skeptic, but you’ve seen how paranoid sheltered purebloods can be about superstitions, and the thought of someone hurting Scruffy because they think he’s anything more than a dog makes you a bit nervous.

But still, you can’t stop yourself from wondering how he even got inside, and what he was doing there anyway.

You push the thought aside for now, and since you and Professor Lupin are heading the same way, you both agree that it makes sense to walk together. The walk there is quiet, and it’s not a terrible silence, but it isn’t too comfortable either. He is one of your teachers after all- what can you even talk about? The weather? Homework? He seems to realize that the silence isn’t working for you, and bless his heart, tries his best to start a conversation as you near the courtyard. “So tell me, [Y/N], what do you plan to do after graduation?”

Ah, yes. The same question you’ve been asked at least once every year since you came to Hogwarts. “I’m most likely going to become a healer, or at least that’s what all the classes I picked in 6th year are leading me to. I didn’t really think too much of it then, so now I’m just kind of winging it.” You give him a lame shrug. It’s probably not the best thing to say to a teacher, but Lupin doesn’t mind your blunt honesty, as his response comes in the form of a burst of laughter, and you can’t help but mirror the action.

“ _Winging it_ could be used to describe how my 7th year went as well.” He gives your shoulder a light nudge with his own. “You know, I never expected I’d end up teaching at some point in my life when I was your age. In fact, I had no idea I’d be doing anything really. I found that despite certain limitations, teaching seems to come quite naturally to me. You might not know what you plan to do now, and that’s fine. But you also don’t know how good you might be as a healer until you try; you may find that outside of academics, it’s something you enjoy. Your classes now aren’t a true indicator of what you may be doing years from now.”

You’re touched at his words. He spoke in such an earnest way that it’s easy to see that his advice and guidance is genuine. It’s shocking to hear that he never thought to be a teacher before taking his position at Hogwarts and you wonder why he never considered it in the past; he’s definitely a natural.

Maybe you’ll have to thank Scruffy, because if you hadn’t decided to stay behind today you might not have had such a lovely interaction with Hogwarts’ newest, and possibly best DADA teacher so far.

***

There are already plenty of students returning to the courtyard by the time you and Lupin get there. Most of them you don’t recognize, but there’s two that stick out like sore thumbs; two tall, very annoying, ginger sore thumbs.

One sees you as you enter the courtyard, and is already waving at you in the hopes that you notice him, despite him already being so visible from the sea of much shorter students around him and his brother. You’ve been spotted. You mentally curse and try not to look as if you’ve noticed.

“[Y/N!] Come on, don’t ignore us!” The other shouts at you from the distance, causing several students heads to turn at the sudden sound.

Lupin is satisfied to leave you upon seeing your friends call out to you, most likely assuming that either one of the twins is who you were referring to in your previous conversation, and bids you a quick farewell before heading inside.

“Get lost, Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb. I’m not in the mood!” you shout back once Lupin is out of earshot, and it doesn’t even cross your mind that the twins might not understand the nicknames you applied to them. Fred and George aren’t slowed down by your surliness, and it only causes them to make their way over to you quicker. Curse them and their long limbs.

“Which of us is Tweedle Dumb? We’ll be able to tell which of us you favor more with your answer.” With their close proximity, it makes it easy for you to tell which is which. Fred’s face turns serious as he speaks, but you’ve known them for so long that it’s easy to tell that it’s just a front.

Fred and George Weasley have been two of your closest friends ever since you ran into them during their first year, right as they were attempting to break into Filch’s office. Why a pair of eleven year olds, who had only just arrived to school a few months before that, felt the need to take such a risk was beyond you, but seeing the two new bright-eyed Gryffindors take on such a daring task tugged at your irresponsible heartstrings, and you weren’t about to see them suffer at the hands of Filch and his brutal punishments. Instead of telling on them like they expected when they finally noticed that someone two years older was standing to the side and watching as they failed miserably at getting the _alohomora_ charm to work on the door to the office, you did the complete opposite.

You were swift to spring into action, leaning down to whisper, _“Try aberto.”_ to the both of them, gesturing with one of your fingers the proper motion of the wand they needed to use, before dashing away to call out Filch who was lurking close by down another corridor. You claimed you had seen two girls having a nasty argument in the girl’s bathroom upstairs that had led to one of the pipes bursting- creating the perfect diversion for the twins to do what they wanted without getting caught. They escaped without any trace of being there, and apparently with a map that showed them where everyone in the castle was. Your act of kindness wasn’t forgotten, and that was the start of a friendship you couldn’t get rid of. Ever since, Fred and George had become like the little brothers you had never asked for, nor wanted in the first place. You wouldn’t dare give them the satisfaction of admitting it out loud, but they might be your favorite people at Hogwarts, and despite the age difference they never cease to be entertaining company.

“Now, don’t be like that [Y/N]!”

“We know we’re your favorites!” They sing in unison. You still don’t know how they manage that. Do they plan out all their conversations beforehand?

“Favorite what, nuisances? Red-headed twins? Devil spawn? There’s so many options here, boys. How am I ever supposed to know what you mean?” They brush off your response with a laugh, and you do your best to hold yours back, lest you give them the satisfaction of having proof that you find them only slightly endearing.

Each twin drapes an arm around your shoulders, matching your steps as you continue into the castle. “So cheeky, and to think we were so kind as to buy you a pack of Sugar Quills from Honeydukes.”

Oh, you just hate them. Their grins grow even wider when you stop in your tracks, and you hate yourself a little bit for giving in so easily. George holds out the packet of assorted colorful quill shaped lollipops that he had tucked inside the bag on his arm, and when you go to grab them, he pulls his hand away. You frown.

“Now, now, [Y/N]; what do you say?”

You could kill them if you knew you wouldn’t be the prime suspect. “I like you guys…. A little bit.”

Fred shakes his head.

“I tolerate you both an acceptable amount,”

“That’s not it!”

“Would you rather we eat these instead?”

“Okay, Fine! I like you guys a lot and you’re my best friends and the best pranksters to have ever set foot in Hogwarts. Also, your looks combined make you more handsome than even Cedric Diggory himself. Is that good enough? Is the blackmailing over?”

George hands you the pack of Sugar Quills as soon as you finish and holds his other hand to his heart, “I never knew you cared about us so much.”

“Shove it,” you say, already tearing the wrapper off of one of the quills and shoving it in your mouth.

When Fred began to fake cry into arm of his sweater, you gave him a swift kick in the shin.

“I think Gilderoy Lockhart taught you guys too well last year, it seems you’re both far too talented when it comes to the art of being full of yourselves.” Your voice comes out muffled due the lollipop still inside your mouth, but they seem to get the picture.

You and the twins eventually make your way up to the Gryffindor Tower while they tell you all about their first Hogsmeade adventure of the school year. Students are already bustling up and down the staircases, and a group of Gryffindors is already starting to form on the one that moves you all towards your destination. But when you start to hear panicked whispers from the group already standing around the portrait, the three of you start to get uneasy.

“What’s going on?” You ask as you and the twins reach the landing. Oliver is the first to step in, he’s dirty and still wearing his quidditch gear and you’re not surprised to see that he spent the whole day practicing as opposed to going to Hogsmeade.

“Someone messed up the Fat Lady’s portrait pretty badly, and now no one can find her anywhere.” He points back at the portrait, and you squeeze through the tightly packed crowd of Gryffindors to see what he means, only to take a step back at the sight of the slashed painting- or what’s left of it.

“Woah.” George’s eyes are wide as he stares at the remains of the portrait.

“Bloody hell; what’d you think could’ve done that?” Fred questions.

You shake your head, unable to look away. “Something angry.”

More students are starting to come up to investigate, many of them not even Gryffindors, and the commotion is only growing louder, the voices of students and paintings alike making it nothing but pure pandemonium.

“Excuse me, I’m Head Boy!” A familiar voice shouts, and you watch as Percy Weasley shoves his way down one of the tightly packed staircases. You can’t help but roll your eyes when he makes his way towards the portrait, putting his arms out to keep people from coming closer. “Get back, all of you!” His face is red, and you wonder if he ran his way there. “No one is to enter this dormitory until it’s been fully searched.” He starts making attempts to usher others back to their own respective houses and you smirk when he’s met with zero reaction from the students he’s trying so hard to control.

Having to suffer through Percy being by your side in almost all of your N.E.W.T. classes was bad enough, but you swear that with him being Head Boy his need to be in control was only getting worse. He seemed to fully believe his authority was only second to Dumbledore.

“Another day of Percy flexing his Head Boy privileges.” You sigh. “He must be on top of the world right now.” The twins snicker from beside you, but quiet down when Percy’s head swivels around, glaring daggers at you and his brothers.

“I swear he hears all. It’s scary.” George whispers.

Relief is visible on Percy’s face when he takes notice of Dumbledore and Filch hastily making their way up the stairs. The crowd breaks apart as they move, and the many voices start to quiet down with the presence of the Headmaster.

Dumbledore stops when he hits the top step, his mouth open with shock as he surveys the damage, just as you and many others did only moments ago. You have to admit, it’s unnerving to see even the person who’s in charge be affected by the sight of the damaged painting. He steps forward, running a hand down one of the jagged cuts that were carved into the canvas, so deep that even the wood beneath is marked.

“Round up the ghosts.” He instructs Filch. “Tell them to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady.”

“There’s no need for ghosts, professor.” Filch points towards a painting on the far side of the room, clutching Mrs. Norris closer to his chest. “She’s right there.”

With the discovery of the Fat Lady, the commotion picks up once again and everyone starts moving at once to get a peak. Percy’s shouts of order in an attempt to reign in the chaos fall on deaf ears. Even you don’t to choose whether you want to see her for yourself or not, because you’re practically swept away in the crowd that’s rushing up the stairs.

When you get to the painting, you find the Fat Lady in a picturesque jungle landscape, hidden behind the large body of a hippopotamus.

“Dear Lady, who did this to you?” Dumbledore asks gently as the Fat Lady peaks up from behind the hippopotamus. Through the brushstrokes you can see that she’s still trembling.

She lets out a wail, and some students standing too close move back at the grating noise. “Eyes like the devil, he’s got; and a soul as dark as his name! It was him, Headmaster- the one they all talk about! He’s here, somewhere in the castle! Sirius Black!”

There’s another wave of whispers among the students, and Dumbledore immediately springs into action, advising all students to head to the Great Hall as Filch leaves to start securing the castle.

As you and the other students start on the descent down the stairs, you hesitate when you make your way past the damaged painting that the Fat Lady once occupied. You want nothing more than to ignore the voice in the back of your head that tells you that something seems _off;_ to be able to pass it off as a normal reaction to such a shocking display of brutality that your subconscious is simply trying to make sense of. But your mind seems to be hell-bent on making a wild connection; one that you’re trying to tell yourself can’t be true by any stretch of the imagination. Seeing Scruffy come leaping out of one of the castle’s windows on the very same day that Sirius Black tried shanking his way into the Gryffindor Tower can’t be anything more than a coincidence, right?

***

As you and the rest of the Gryffindors shuffle into The Great Hall, the voices around you have died down into curious whispers, and as the rest of the houses start to appear, all looking equally confused, the word of what happened to the Gryffindor Tower’s portrait spreads like wildfire.

Dumbledore announces that as a result of the break in of Sirius Black, all students are required to stay in the Great Hall for the night until the staff can be sure his presence doesn’t still remain in the castle. There’s a chorus of groans and some squeals of excitement from those who see it as nothing more than the opportunity to have a pseudo-sleepover between their friends who’re in other houses, but the feeling of anxiety that sits in the pit of your stomach makes that a feeling you can’t relate to.

When everyone settles down into the sleeping bags conjured up on the floor by Dumbledore himself, you lie on your stomach and lay your head against your arms, eyes drifting around and watching as one by one the students around you fall asleep.

As you try your best to coax yourself into sleep, doing your best efforts to put the events of the day behind you, Dumbledore and Professor Snape are speaking in hushed whispers while they pass between the rows of students. If they’re trying to be quiet, it’s not working, and with nothing but the sound of snores and the shuffling of sleeping bags as students toss in their sleep, you might even be able to hear a pin drop if you listened close enough.

“-I didn’t really expect him to linger.” You hear Dumbledore say, and you feel yourself perk up at his words, knowing that he can only be referring to Sirius Black.

“Remarkable feat, don’t you think?” Snape’s monotone voice is almost enough to have you falling asleep right then and there, but the curiosity you feel is far too strong to ignore. “To enter Hogwarts castle, on one’s own- completely undetected?” the way he says it makes it sound like he’s hinting at something, but what, you don’t know.

“Quite Remarkable, yes.” Their voices grow louder as they walk near you, and you quickly close your eyes when you sense them brush past you.

“Any theories on how he might have managed it?”

_I might just have one,_ you muse mentally. But do you really? There’s no foundation to the idea your addled brain has conjured up and still won’t abandon, and all you’re left with is the knowledge that there was a stray dog in the castle at the same time as Sirius Black.

A stray dog that _is_ alarmingly intelligent for what is seemingly an innocent animal…

And _did_ only just appear around the same time when Sirius Black was spotted so close to Hogwarts-

No, no! You’ll have none of those thoughts! What ties could a simple animal have with a mass murderer? Surely it can’t be more than just Scruffy having been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“Many,” Dumbledore’s response pulls you from your thoughts, “each as unlikely as the rest.”

“You may recall prior to the start of term I expressed concerns about your appointment of Professor-”

You make a face when Dumbledore cuts Snape off and doesn’t allow him to name names, as he’s quick to defend the other professors and deny whatever Snape was about to insinuate.

_What professor?_ You think. The only new additions to the staff this year were Hagrid and Lupin, but Hagrid has been working at Hogwarts for years already, so he had to be referring to Lupin, right? Why on earth would he be helping Sirius Black?

“Well, what about Potter? Should he be warned?” You hear Snape say, and it only leads you to feel more confused. What did Harry Potter, the 3rd year who seemed to be the center of all sorts of drama in the small amount of time he’s been at Hogwarts, have to do with Black? You did hear rumors over the summer that Sirius was involved with he-who-must-not-be-named, but surely not… right? If the intrusive thoughts that are keeping you awake have any ounce of truth to them, then that can’t be possible. You’re glad it’s so dark within the confines of the Great Hall and the professors can’t see it as you furrow your brow in confusion.

You drift off into a dreamless sleep not long after that, unable to keep your eyes open long enough to stay awake and hear what else they might have to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee, that's an awful lot of words for one chapter. What am I, some kind of over-achiever? I hope that my future chapters will be as long as this one, but who knows. I'm just the author, I don't know anything. 
> 
> Lots of this was already written when I posted the first chapter, but lots of it is also new. It's funny how many more ideas you can think of when you obsessively re-read your work and find more things wrong with it and then feel the need to change around a bunch of stuff each time! 
> 
> And yes, I know it seems like a trend in HP fics for an OC (or xreader in this case) to be friends with the Weasley twins, but when writing this I totally get it. I mean, heck, I want to be friends with them too.
> 
> anyway, i'll see you when i see you for the next update!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your need for answers leads you to the library. One by one more things are beginning to make sense, no matter how much you don't want to believe them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, chapter three! I was going to get this up earlier, but I really want to have stuff written in advance because I don't want to end up getting overwhelmed and feeling bad about not making frequent updates. Although I do think this is pretty frequent? I know I probably don't have a lot of ~readers~ who are reading each update, but I think it's good to keep to some sort of schedule. I'd like to be able to post one chapter a week, so hopefully you'll be seeing me back again around this time next week, but we'll see how that goes. Also, this was weirdly difficult to write, too. I had stuff outlined and an idea and I could see it all in my head but for some reason the words took a while to catch up! I ended up rewriting this entire chapter twice, but it is the longest one so far so I think that makes up for it. :')
> 
> Anyway, go forth and enjoy!

The following day, all houses are cleared to go back to their dorms and students are allowed to spend their Sunday as they wish.

When you wake up, your back aching from the eight hours of what barely constitutes as sleep on the stone floor of the Great Hall, you drag yourself back up to the tower in hopes of sleeping away the rest of the morning- maybe even the whole day, if you can manage that. You know that with what happened yesterday still being on the forefront of everyone’s mind **,** staying away from the gossip that’s to come from such an event is the best thing for you right now.

With the idea that somehow Scruffy is connected to Sirius Black haunting you like the plague, it feels like everything that involves him is now leaving you with a bad taste in your mouth. You didn’t mean to put such a ridiculous concept in your head, but now it won’t go away, making itself comfortable in your mind and leaving you an unsettled mess that’s way too concerned over the possible correlation between a dog’s absence and a murderer’s attempt to break into a school. Hanging out among other students right after all the commotion will only leave you surrounded by people chatting away about the same man you’re trying _not_ to be reminded of.

When you reach the dorms and promptly flop onto your mattress, rolling over onto your side and making yourself comfortable nestled within your blankets, you find that somehow despite your efforts, a restful sleep is continuing to evade you. The silence of the room is less than welcoming, as it leaves you alone with your thoughts, the same ones you’re trying so hard to rid yourself of.

Your mind wanders back to the conversation that you overheard between Dumbledore and Professor Snape; the latter of which was about to imply that Professor Lupin was somehow involved in getting Sirius into the castle, but why? What connection could there be between the two? It’s not even any of your business, but it’s as if the more you ponder these questions, the more you’re left with, and you know that unless you start finding answers, they won’t go away.

Your mind really just can’t help itself, can it? You being left to your thoughts only allows your mind to start on another matter; the most pressing one in your opinion. With you wandering around outside all day, it’s amazing that you hadn’t once noticed anyone trying to sneak their way in or out of the castle. But perhaps you did see just that. The image of Scruffy bounding out of one of the windows has practically been playing on repeat in your head, and it does nothing to help you as you desperately try to play it off as nothing more than a mere coincidence. This is exactly what you didn’t want. You didn’t want to be led back to this same outlandish thought, that maybe Sirius Black was the damn dog.

It could just be a fluke; another example of a “wrong time, wrong place,” chance happening that’s made your encounters with Scruffy clash so suspiciously with the events of Sirius Black breaking in, but there’s just one too many coincidences for you to not dwell on it, no matter how much you don’t want to.

Sleep isn’t an option anymore- at least that much is clear to you. You throw the blankets off of your figure, sitting upright momentarily while pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. “You’re not going to give this one up, are you?” You grumble to yourself, already knowing the answer. You climb out of bed, hastily getting dressed and leaving the Gryffindor Tower as soon as you do; a determined look on your face as you head straight for the library.

Maybe you can meet yourself halfway. If you’re this caught up over Sirius Black, perhaps starting on looking into Snape’s claims and nipping that thought in the bud before it can get carried away will allow you some semblance of rationality, and you can worry about Sirius and Scruffy’s connection later if this one doesn’t give you the peace of mind you’re hoping for.

***

It’s amazing isn’t it? How one stupid, totally _insane_ and out there suspicion can have the power to take over all of your thoughts and leave you a jumbled mess. It’s not a good thing when those ideas try to intrude on your daily life, and it’s definitely not a good thing to let them. But as you find yourself walking straight to the section of the library dedicated to past yearbooks, you feel like the only way you’ll be able to concentrate on anything else is if you humor the persistent part of you that refuses to drop any curiosity you have that’s linked to Sirius Black. You figure that yearbooks would be the best place to start to see if there really is a connection between Sirius Black and Professor Lupin, and to also take a peek into the past of the man who everyone is waiting for to strike again.

None of the newspaper articles you saw mentioned how old Sirius Black is, and it’s not just a casual question you can go and ask your DADA teacher, so you’re going to have to make an educated guess. Grabbing a few books and dropping them onto an empty table with a _thud_ that gets you dirty looks from a few of the other students in the library, you settle down and begin your search.

One by one you flip through the yearbooks and come up empty handed, forcing you to send each back to their space on the shelf with a wave of your wand. As the pile dwindles you start to get nervous- until one of them leaves you victorious.

In the _1977-1978 Hogwarts Yearbook,_ you’re shocked to find a young, quite charming looking 7th year Sirius Black staring back up at you from one of the moving pictures, donning a familiar colored tie around his neck. _A Gryffindor?_ Given the current state of things, it’s definitely not the house you expected him to be in.

In the image, he’s winking, a smirk spreading onto his face before he promptly breaks out into a laugh as he fails to keep up his suave appearance. The sight of the looping image makes you smile without realizing it, but you can’t help but feel a little sad. The juxtaposition of the photo in comparison to his mugshot that was plastered on every wall and lamppost in the wizarding community of Great Britain is so startlingly different that you almost can’t believe it’s the same person. If anything, it really isn’t. You don’t think of the person he is now when you look at his face, you see a person with his whole future ahead of him, a snapshot of the past. What led this person down the path to Azkaban? What made him go from the picture you see, to a supposedly deranged man who seems dedicated to trying to break into the school he must’ve called home once before?

You shake your head, brushing the new questions off; you’re not here to analyze what turns a man into a murderer.

As you inspect the image further, one feature stands out among the rest, one that you swear you’ve seen before. One you can’t believe you didn’t notice sooner. Steely grey eyes, ones that are practically glowing despite the faded color of the image; grey eyes that are strikingly similar to Scruffy’s, so much so that it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end as you connect the dots you were so unwilling to believe had anything to do with each other. You thought you could leave this to the very last second, bury it down under investigating Snape’s claims and maybe even forget about it as a result, but all the strange things you once took notice of about Scruffy are flooding back to you- his intelligence and the way he understands every word you say, barking back as if he’s letting you know his response; the eyes that you knew deep down from the very _start_ weren’t animal in nature. And then there’s the pièce de résistance- his being in the castle at the same time as Sirius. Maybe it was more than just the chance happening you’ve been trying so hard to believe.

The gnawing in your head is back again, and this time what it’s trying to tell you doesn’t sound so crazy anymore.

But, Sirius Black? Being the same dog that tried its best to be a lap dog during the few lunches that he shared with you? Scruffy is just so… Sweet. And he seems to have a better head on his shoulders than what you’ve seen of Sirius Black in the newspapers. The wanted image of him screaming as he’s held down by Azkaban guards is nothing like the gentle giant of a dog you’ve been bringing food to. You look back at the yearbook picture of a Sirius Black from years ago, pursing your lips. Now _that_ version of Sirius does seem more like the dog you’ve been hanging around...

But that would make Sirius Black an animagus- and don’t they have to be registered? That way the ministry could keep track of them and stop things like this from happening. Nowhere on the wanted signs did it mention anything about Sirius having an animagus form.

Oh. That’s it, isn’t it?

You slap yourself on the forehead, and in the quiet of the library you pray no one hears the resounding smack that it causes. _Of course, you idiot! They don’t know!_ How else would Sirius have managed to be the first person to ever break out of Azkaban if he wasn’t hiding something like that up his sleeve! When you thought to look for answers, you never expected the inkling you had would lead you to this, but you should’ve known. You’re glad you’re sitting down- feeling a little light headed as the situation at hand has become much too overwhelming.

What are you supposed to do with this information? Why did you have to go looking for something that wasn’t any of your business? Everything you once believed to be an irrational stretch was all falling into place, leaving you with a theory that if true could lead to the recapture of Sirius Black. So why are you hesitating? You remain seated, making no attempt to break out into a run straight to the headmaster’s office to tell him of your discovery. Your eyes remain locked on the picture of a grinning Sirius Black in the yearbook laid out in front of you.

If there’s even an ounce of truth to the notion of Sirius Black being an animagus, then he’s had a handful of opportunities to kill you if he wanted. Instead he chose to spend part of his days on the run hanging out with you in the disguise of a dog, getting pampered and fed like a common family pet. When you say it like that, you feel a bit weird; it seems awfully out of character for the blood thirsty killer he’s been described as. Perhaps he was just buttering you up, making you keen to help out his dog form so you’d be willing to help out his human form when the time calls for it. If that’s the case, you guess his plan was working out pretty perfectly, since you basically gave him the information he needed to break into the castle. Even worse, now that you’ve found that it’s more than possible and very well could be true, you’re not jumping to reveal such information. Can you get arrested for that?

You’re hesitant to continue. This already feels bordering on being too much to handle and you honestly don’t know what you’re going to do with any further information you find. But the whole reason why you’ve spent half of your morning flipping through decades old yearbooks was to see if you can confirm what Snape said, not to accidentally give in to the very same crazy thought that you were trying to forget about with said task and confirm that Sirius Black is more than likely the same dog that’s been throwing himself at you during lunch just for a few scraps of food and some attention. As big as that is, you can’t stop now. You still have answers to find.

Godric, your need for the truth is starting to make you sound like a Ravenclaw.

You flip a few pages ahead, finding your way towards the _L_ section. For him to believe Lupin could be helping Sirius, they had to have a history, right? As you scan through the rows of photos, Lupin stands out among the rest. His younger self is remarkably similar to his current one; so much so that you’re certain that if the names of students weren’t listed under their photos, you’d still be able to tell it was him, and it isn’t even the scars that cover his face that makes you say that. His face looks tired, his hair disheveled yet he’s giving a bashful smile, the type that makes your eyes scrunch up. If not for the aging of his face and the greying of his hair, he’d look the same as he did in his 7th year. You don’t forget to note the color of his tie, red and gold, just like Sirius; and just like you.

Snape’s speculation of Lupin’s involvement is at least within the realm of reason. Lupin and Sirius were in the same year and in the same house, and that’s enough for you to believe that they were acquainted with each other, but combined with Snape’s suspicion you suspect they had to have been close friends; you don’t just claim something like that about two people if they were nothing more than roommates. 

He had a point, you admit, but there’s one big flaw to it- Lupin couldn’t have been anywhere close enough to secretly help Sirius - Scruffy? - sneak his way into the castle without you noticing him wandering around, and he looked to be only just returning to the main part of the castle when you bumped into him on your way to the courtyard. If anything, he had a better alibi than you did, and you doubt if Sirius has bad intentions he’d be helping him.

It’s such a shame Snape is so rough around the edges, because if you knew he wouldn’t berate you just for listening in on his conversation with Dumbledore in the first place, you’d love to grant him the knowledge of his theory being incorrect, if only to see the look on his face when he finds out he was wrong.

You’ve got to wonder though, how would Snape of all people have such knowledge of the two? And why does he seem so adamant that Lupin could be Sirius’ accomplice, to the point where he had expressed his displeasure with the Headmaster before it was confirmed that Lupin was to be this year’s DADA teacher?

Unless…

You continue forward, going further into the book to see if your hunch is correct, and when you reach the desired page, you feel the answer is written all over the sullen looking face of a young Severus Snape, his skin a ghastly pallid color and eyes dark and narrowed as he looks at the camera as if he’s about to hex the person on the other side. So it isn’t just Sirius Black and Professor Lupin who have a history together- Severus Snape had to have encountered them at least once as someone in the same year as them _and_ a Slytherin, and you highly doubt that the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin was any better then than it is now. Unresolved schoolyard drama, perhaps? If there’s anyone who can hold a grudge, it’s Snape.

Based on photos alone it seems that Lupin isn’t the only one who hasn’t changed much in terms of visuals since his time at Hogwarts, so who’s to say that Snape hasn’t changed much when it comes to mentality, as well? You wouldn’t be surprised if Snape’s concern came from a place of spite.

At least now you have a vague understanding of _why_ , but it doesn’t leave you as satisfied as you had hoped. You might know what Snape’s reasoning is now, and the possible connection between Lupin and Sirius, but you’re still left with the elephant in the room. You’re thankful that the weather is so poor today, as it leaves you a good excuse for not going outside. You’ve found the truth out now, and you have a feeling you’re going to have to face it sooner rather than later. Eventually the weather will clear, and whether it be tomorrow or the next day or some day after that, the unresolved issue of the dog-that’s-not-really-a-dog that’s probably going to expect you to return back to your tree like nothing ever happened will rear its head inevitably. If he is Sirius Black, he won’t just brush off your sudden disappearance from the spot you obviously sit at almost every day for lunch, but you can’t ignore what you know, and you can’t just go charging up to a dog in the middle of the day and start grilling him until he reveals that he’s actually Sirius Black- not only do you not want to accidentally start a rumor about you being off your rocker, but you doubt that even if your assumption is correct Sirius Black would go along with your request, at least not in broad daylight.

If you’re going to play the fool and not go straight to the Headmaster with this sort of information, for reasons you still don’t understand, then you’d need a plan; a plan to confront him on his lie of stringing you along into believing he's nothing more than an innocent animal, and a reason for why he’s at Hogwarts in the first place.

You roll up your sleeve, checking the time it shows on your watch, and cringe a bit at the hour- the morning has passed you by and so has lunch. You stand from the chair, stretching as you lazily send the books back to where they belong. Perhaps a plan could wait until tomorrow, after you take up the opportunity to sleep without having unanswered questions keeping you awake, and it’s not like you’re going to get much sleep tomorrow anyway if you decide to go with the plan already forming in your head.

***

Monday comes fast, and you’re eager to get to class and get the day over with. The sun is just beyond the clouds and the chance of rain had dwindled through the night, which meant whatever sort of danger you’re about to willingly put yourself in all so you could prove a point to yourself can be done tonight. At first you thought that the homework you’ll be drowning in by the end of the day would successfully take your mind off your recent discoveries, but as you walk to your third class of the day, Defense Against The Dark Arts, the heavy weight of the homework you haphazardly shoved into your bag after both N.E.W.T. Charms and Transfiguration has done nothing to help aside from causing you more stress.

You’re just glad your next class is with Lupin; despite the possibility of him having once been close with Sirius Black, you know he’s a good person, and it helps ease your worries to have your next class be one that feels less like work and more like an experience that one can actually tolerate with him at the helm.

When you walk into the classroom though, you find the opposite of what you expect from the teacher that balances out the darkness of the subject so well. The room is dark, with all the shutters on the outside of the windows shut tight, but you notice the projector is out behind the rows of tables. A few Slytherins walk past you as you stand in the doorway, excited at the possibility of being able to sleep through whatever presentation Lupin has planned. Lupin definitely seems more hands on than this, but you’re not about to complain.

Nevermind. Maybe start complaining.

Instead of the cheery faced, kind-hearted Lupin greeting the class, it’s Professor Snape who glides through the door of the room, moving his way around you and the students who still stand in the doorway, his cloak flying out behind him as he makes his way past the rest of the students who have yet to even sit down and to the projector set up behind the desks. He doesn’t offer a single glance to anyone, despite the confused faces that are all staring at him.

“You won’t be using your regular books today, so without any dawdling, put them back away. _Quickly_. The ones needed for this lesson are already at your desks.” He taps his wand against the projector, the slides magically appearing as he does. He gives you and your classmates no time to further react, all of you rushing to your seats per his demands.

When you sit down and take in the subject displayed on the slide in front of you, you can’t help the noise of confusion that escapes you. Werewolves? Has Snape decided to throw the whole syllabus out the window? You learned about them in 3rd year!

You’re not the only one perplexed by the sudden change in material. Your desk partner leans in, giving you a sideway glance. “My younger sister had this class earlier, and she said he was teaching the _same_ thing. What is he doing?"

You shake your head, equally as confused. Why was Lupin absent? And why was Snape teaching the same thing to completely different grade levels?

A Slytherin boy in another row raises his hand, holding the book up with the other in bewilderment. He doesn’t even wait for his head of house to call on him before he points out the issue. “Professor Snape, we’ve learned all this stuff in 3rd year.” Everyone seems relieved that he’s taken one team and stated what everyone has on their mind, but it’s dead silent as you wait for Snape’s response. You’re just thankful he’s a Slytherin; Snape’s a lot less likely to rag on a student from his own house, and Mondays are bad enough without having to see one of your classmates get publicly executed for speaking out of turn to the man.

You can feel the annoyance rolling off of Snape in waves as he turns towards the boy, his voice full of ice. “Seeing as you’re all in your 7th year, testing your memory of such important topics will be vital for your upcoming N.E.W.T.S. I know Lupin may not be inclined to prepare you for such matters, but he’s not here now, is he? The information you relearn about werewolves here today may just come in handy in the future. Repeating of such topics will only come as an unfortunate surprise if one does not remember the subject… Now turn to page 394.” He grounds out his last words, turning away from the Slytherin boy and walking to the front of the class to begin the lesson. As he goes into the specifics of lycanthropy, you and your classmates have no choice but to begrudgingly accept his answer and start working.

You don’t want to admit that Snape was correct in your forgetting of the subject, and as you go through the workload of the lesson, more and more information comes back to you on the topic of werewolves. You’re not surprised Snape is using Lupin’s sudden absence to put down his teaching skills, but you don’t believe that he’s reteaching old material, _easy_ material, for the sake of the students and to assure their good grades on future exams- not one bit. Snape would never go so far for the betterment of his students, and if anything he’d be teaching more rigorous subjects beyond the 7th year curriculum just to make you sweat a little.

“Now,” Snape starts, “Who can tell me the key differences between a werewolf and an animagus?”

You can’t control yourself when you choke on air, the sharp intake of breath that you involuntarily take in at his question leaves you trying to stop yourself from drawing attention to your sudden coughing, a blush forming on your face. The subject of Animagi being at the forefront of your mind since yesterday being brought up isn’t something you expected, and your reaction mirrors that.

Snape doesn’t seem fazed, barely turning his head to look at you, “Unless it’s a dire circumstance, please do your best to stop your incessant coughing, [Y/N]. This isn’t Potions class and you cannot get out of an assignment by pretending to be ill.”

You nod meekly, and when another Gryffindor behind you raises his hand to answer Snape’s original question, you feel your shoulders sag in relief when his cutthroat gaze is diverted away from you.

“A werewolf has no control over their transformations, and they happen whether they want it to or not. Animagus can transform into an animal at will, any time and at their choosing.” Answers the student.

You’ve experienced too many coincidences the past few days, but now it’s just getting ridiculous. Did Snape just find out the stray he’s been feeding is actually a man who just broke out of prison who happens to be able to turn into a dog, too?

Snape hides his satisfaction with the answer well, and continues. “Correct. And as some of you who are also taking Astronomy may know, tonight is a full moon. What do you suppose a werewolf would be doing now, just hours before their transformation begins?” The way he walks between the desks, eyes watching each student with a critical gaze, reminds you of a predator stalking its prey, looking for the weakest in the bunch; an easy target.

His words weigh heavy on your mind, and your first thought is of how Lupin’s absence has just so happened to land on the same day as the full moon; the same day Snape decides to teach about werewolves; a topic you already learned about years ago.

Was he trying to make a joke? You’ve never known Snape to be one to do such things, but surely he can’t be serious if what you think he’s eluding to is right. Whatever he’s trying to pull, it’s obviously deliberate. But what are you missing?

You stare at the class around you, checking to see if anyone shares your reaction to his words and sees through the nature of his question, but no one seems the wiser. A few students are raising their hands, others writing down notes before they can do the same, and there’s a pair of Slytherins nodding off just because they know they can get away with it. When you turn back away from sneaking a glance at your classmates, you feel yourself shrink back in your seat when you spot Snape’s eyes on yours.

“[Y/N], since there seems to be more interesting things in the classroom for you to focus on, can you tell us?”

No one takes much notice to him singling you out, not after he’s done it at least once to every person sitting in the room, but no matter how many times it happens to you, you still can’t help the way the color drains from your face as Snape stands impatiently waiting for your answer.

“Due to how traumatic of an experience the werewolf transformation is, they’d most likely become reclusive, hiding away from any friends and family they may have and becoming very irritable. Their mental state would be a very delicate thing, because they know of the pain that’s soon to follow.” You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing that you realize what he’s trying to get at with such a question, but as your mind puts two and two together, you can’t help if your face shows what you’re thinking, and by the way Snape’s dark eyes seem to glint at your response makes you suspect this was his plan all along.

“Keep your eyes on the board next time.” You catch a glimpse of a hint of a smirk on his face as he turns away from you, and that’s the final nail in the coffin. You didn’t understand the possible connection between Snape and Lupin before, and why Snape sounded so adamant about Lupin helping Sirius Black; you thought it was as simple as Snape not getting along with Lupin and Sirius during his youth, but this is much more than a petty act of revenge for something as menial as a childhood grudge.

The way he questioned Lupin’s innocence when it came to Sirius getting into the castle and how he spoke so venomously about his teaching, and now he’s teaching about not only werewolves, but so clearly hinting at Lupin being a werewolf of all things?

And Snape wouldn’t do something like this- so clearly trying to lead the students into believing something so extreme about their current DADA teacher, if it were not true. The repercussions would be severe if he was trying to slander Lupin without any proof. It looks like Snape knows even more than you do, because if Sirius Black is possibly an animagus, who’s to say that what Snape is trying to reveal about Lupin isn’t true? What’s to say he’s not a werewolf?

It’s clear to you now; Snape knows Lupin’s dirty little secret, and is doing everything he can to make sure everyone else does too. His hatred of the man, though you don’t know the specifics of why, has gone too far this time. He’s not just trying to get a man fired, he’s trying to ruin his life.

By the end of class, you’ve tuned out everything, numbly going through the work and barely paying attention as Snape’s announcement of homework is responded to with a chorus of groans.

“-And if anyone dares to complain about quidditch practice they can expect to be in my office serving detention instead.” You catch him say, and with that, class is over, and the hurried shuffling of footsteps and chairs being pushed back as students try not to look too much like they’re fleeing the classroom is heard over the sound of the projector shutting off.

“Are you going to sit there all day, [Y/N]? Or are you actually going to leave.” Snape’s voice snaps you out of your trance.

“Oh.” Is all you can say, clumsily grabbing your things, tucking them close against your chest as you move past Snape, not wanting to be around him for any longer than you have to.

It’s time for lunch, and you’ve got a favor you need to ask.

***

When you walk into the Great Hall, you spot the twins huddled together at the far end of the Gryffindor table, scribbling away at some parchment and most likely working on perfecting one of the many pranks they always have in the works. There are plenty of students piling into the Great Hall, loud chatter and laughter filling the space around you.

You walk past the other 7th years in your house; one perks up at the sight of you, beckoning you over.

“Are you on your way out, [Y/N]? It’s so cold today, maybe you should stay. We don’t want to have to carry you to Madam Pomfrey tomorrow because you decided to go and make yourself sick! Imagine the disappointment she'd feel if she found one of her future protégés isn't watching their health!” One says.

“I was planning on staying; do you think I have some kind of death wish?” Oh, if only they knew. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a second- I’ve got a pair of really annoying twins to talk to.”

“I see, we’re not good enough for ya’ are we? You’re already replacing us with the newer models.”

“Let’s not get jealous, mummy loves you all equally.” They shoo you off when you begin to jokingly blow them kisses, and with that you make your way over to sit down across from the twins. They both look up at you curiously; surprised to see you sitting down.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t you have a hot date with the great outdoors right about now?”

Ooh, what to say? _“Sorry, I told myself I wouldn’t face the murderer disguised as a dog in the middle of the day; I’m just going to wait until night time so Filch will find my dead body tomorrow instead of an innocent first year taking a stroll.”_ Yeah, No. “Too cold out, I don’t want to lose any valuable toes all because I didn’t want to be an extroverted Gryffindor for an hour. But listen- I was wondering, could I borrow that map of yours tonight?”

“The Marauders Map?” asks George. You nod.

“Unless there’s another map that tells you where everyone in the castle is- that’s the one.” You say in a whisper, trusting that they wouldn’t want anyone to overhear that part.

“So you _do_ have a hot date! Tsk, Tsk. Sneaking out when there’s a murderer lurking near the grounds, very bold of you, [Y/N].”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t deny the assumption; you prefer that they believe that then tell them what you’re really going to be up to, even if they wouldn’t believe it. “Can I use it or not?”

“Well I don’t know-“

“-if you can handle it.”

“Come on! I’ve seen the map before, it’s not anything new. If anything I’ve already proved myself to be capable with my wonderful act of kindness all those years ago when you two were just itty bitty first years. Think of it; you two returning the favor of me helping you out in my last year, using the very same map I inadvertently helped you acquire. Awfully poetic, isn’t it?”

George puts a hand to his chin as he contemplates. “Well, I always assumed the joy of our company made us even. Didn’t you, Fred?”

“You’re absolute right, brother mine. It’s not like we let you hang out with us for any other reason aside from obligation.” You resist the urge to scoff.

“ _Pleaseee_ ,” you drag out the word, even batting your eyelashes as a last resort. “I’ll give it back before we even leave for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Fine.” they say together, but not before exchanging some rather uncharacteristically serious looks between each other as they ponder their answer.

“But you swear to not share the secret of the map with whoever you’re clearly sneaking off to be with?” Fred adds.

You nod briskly, wishing you could tell them it isn’t a social call, but still rolling with it.

“So,” George leans forward, his voice low. “Is it Oliver? We know you fancied him a while back.”

A sly grin spreads onto Fred’s face, and you scowl through the blush that’s rising to your cheeks. “Absolutely not! I haven’t liked him since 5th year. Besides, do you really think Oliver Wood of all people would risk losing his precious sleep the night before quidditch practice to hang out with someone? I’d worry that he’d gone mad.”

They laugh, especially considering how true your words are, and soon you part with them with the promise of meeting back at the end of the day; retreating back to the other end of the table and spending the rest of your lunch enjoying some much needed normalcy among your 7th year friends. For the first time in days you’re able to place the thought of Sirius Black into the back of your mind, but deep down you know that it’s only temporary.

***

You wait patiently, or rather impatiently, for Fred and George in the common room after dinner, pacing back and forth for them to arrive and ignoring the odd looks you receive from your fellow Gryffindors as they make their way up to the dorms for the night. When they finally arrive, you endure their whole shtick on how protecting the map protects their legacy as the best pranksters in Hogwarts history, and you even have to go to such lengths as swearing to them that if you don’t come back with the map they have your permission to practice all their future pranks on you before they pull them. Once they advise you on all the best exits with little risk of getting caught, it’s off to bed for you, and you spend the next few hours laying under your covers, wide awake and waiting until the last Gryffindor leaves the common room and the last of your roommates fall asleep so you can make your leave.

The common room is so quiet when you finally tip toe your way down the steps from the dorms that when Percy’s old rat - Scabies? Scabbers? - that he gave to the youngest Weasley brother a few years ago scuttles past you, trying to outrun a hissing cat as it chases after his tail, you’re terrified that the sudden noise of their fighting will alert one of the students and your plans will be foiled before you could even use the map in the first place. But thankfully after one harsh, _“Shh!”_ from you that you made sure was only loud enough for the two animals to hear, you left the safety of the common room without any trouble. It’s a good thing the Fat Lady’s substitute for the portrait hole is a bit of a slacker.

For the first few floors between the tower and the main one, you don’t even need the map; it’s not as if you haven’t snuck out without the use of something as helpful as the Marauders Map before, so you can make your way pretty far without needing it; having made the trek from the Gryffindor Tower to the kitchen in the basement many times, but to be fair, you were never trying to sneak out of the castle then.

And here you are now; kicking yourself, really, truly kicking yourself for thinking this was a good idea. Your wand acts as your guide in the dark labyrinth of Hogwarts’ many corridors, and with the Marauders Map finally open, you make your way freely through them with little chance of being caught. But getting caught by a teacher and risking a slap on the wrist and maybe an hour or two of detention wouldn’t even be the worst thing to possibly happen to you tonight. Dying, maybe? That seems high up on the list. Why you’re doing this, you still don’t know. Was your need to confirm what you know as true so strong that you’re willing to let this be the hill you die on? Sirius Black, regardless of what your intuition is telling you, and regardless of the friendly demeanor he displayed to you as a dog, is still a convicted killer, and even if you put that aside, twelve years trapped in what can only be described as purgatory might make a person a little not all there, to put it lightly.

You shake your head; your parents are going to be awfully mad if you die before graduation.

Fred and George’s previous instructions on how to get out of the castle despite all the extra security measures are surprisingly concise, and after a few more turns (and a few extra when you spot the approaching footsteps of Professor McGonagall and have to hide) you find yourself climbing out of a half open window inside of a locked -now unlocked- supplies closet on the first floor, which apparently Filch always leaves open due to the fumes of the magically enhanced cleaning products. As you tumble out of the window and hit the ground below rather roughly, you can’t help but be amazed at how easy Scruffy made it seem.

Everything seems brighter under the light of the full moon, so you take to walking in the shadows so no one can see you if they decide to look outside, putting away your wand that you were previously using to light your way through the halls and resorting back to good old’ guess work and hoping your eyes adjust soon. You don’t know where you’re looking exactly, but you hope you don’t have to look too far to find him. Going into the Forbidden Forest alone, in the dark and on a full moon is a no-no even if you do stay on one of the paths. You walk nearer towards it, hoping that if you call out for Scruffy, he’ll appear. And if he doesn’t, maybe you’ll just call for Sirius, and hope the dementors that are floating just beyond the grounds don’t hear. You don’t have to search for long, because you do a double take when you look back down at the map in your hands to see where you're going and find the name _SIRIUS BLACK_ written above a set of pacing footsteps just up ahead.

Well, you’re going to get your answer whether you like it or not now. Your voice is barely a whisper when you mutter the words _“mischief managed,”_ and carefully fold the map up, tucking it into the back pocket of your pants and slipping further into the darkness, closer to the Forbidden Forest, the same place you didn't want to go near so late at night, where you’ll either find Sirius Black The Human, or Sirius Black The Animagus, who’s been playing you for a fool and practically driven you mad within the past few days.

Any previous attempts to tell yourself you’re wrong disappear right before your eyes when you spot Scruffy standing in the place where Sirius Black’s footsteps were just shown on the map. Hidden under the shadows of the Forbidden Forest’s trees that blocked out the light of the moon, he’s nothing but a black ominous looking figure on all fours, and he looks more like a spectral being than a scary looking dog. He’s pacing back and forth, ears perked up in the air as if he was already listening for something.

“Scruffy!” You whisper to gain his attention, the sound of your voice cutting through the silence. You refrain from calling him Sirius outright, for fear of scaring him away before you get him to admit the truth. His head whips around at the sound, and he doesn’t hesitate to bound over to you, but he doesn’t look interested in what you have to say, or what you could possibly be offering him so late at night. In true _Not-a-Dog_ fashion, he’s doing something different than what you’d expect from a regular dog that’s only looking for food. His head pushes against your side roughly, butting you away from the area and pushing you back in the direction of the castle. His weight against you causes you to stumble a bit, and in order to get him to stop you tap him lightly on the nose. He snorts in response, brushing off the action and not giving up.

“Woah- Woah! Hold it; you’re not getting rid of me. We need to talk.” He stops at the serious tone of your voice, and in the back of your mind you know it wasn’t just your voice, it was the words, the ones he could so clearly understand. He looks up at you from his pushing, and tilts his head to the side questioningly.

You breathe in deeply, taking a step away from him and crossing your arms, letting one hand discretely dip below near your wand that’s sticking out of your pocket, just in case.

All cards are on the table now.

“I know it’s you. You’re Sirius black, aren’t you? Hiding out as an animagus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's happening...! You're about to meet the real Sirius! Thank goodness, any later than that and I might've had to rephrase the tag that mentions slight crushing, just so everyone knows that I wasn't referring to his animagus form since that's all we've seen of him so far, lol. Please don't have a crush on the dog, I beg thee. 
> 
> And Snape really isn't subtle, is he? I know he doesn't go to such lengths, but I couldn't help it. Can you imagine how funny it'd be if he was trying non-stop to get people to put two and two together and either no one cares enough to think twice about it or any obvious hints he's throwing out are just going over everyone's heads? Poor guy, he did his best. 
> 
> Also, I know there probably won't be anyone who mentions it, BUT BEFORE ANYONE THINKS IT! Ilvermorny has yearbooks apparently, because Queenie had one in Fantasic Beasts, so I liked the idea that Hogwarts would have them too and decided to go with it! 
> 
> Goodbye until the next update!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius Black has some s'plaining to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Here's chapter four, and before schedule too! I hope I've done Sirius Black justice here, since up until this point I really haven't had the opportunity to show if I can even get his characterization right! Fingers crossed!
> 
> Fun fact: I got caught in my feels for Severus halfway through writing this all of the sudden and it took me a while to come back from that :'''') I wish I had it in me to write an xreader about him but gosh.... I think it'd be difficult to get his characterization right especially when it comes to any kind of romance... Kudos to everyone who has ever posted a Sev/OFC or Sev/Reader on this site because I've probably read most of them at this point, hehe.
> 
> Now continue on and read as I struggle for 5k+ words to write something that makes sense to more than just me :')

There’s a stretch of tense silence that follows your words. You hold your breath, watching Scruffy- _Sirius_ , with a careful gaze, waiting for him to react and bracing yourself for any sudden movements. You have a feeling that he won’t try and attack you, if only based on the fact that he hasn’t before- though whether it was because you were offering food to him and he was desperate is still a possibility, but the reckless part of you is choosing to believe differently. You’re not about to advocate for his innocence, but you do want to give him the chance to explain himself. And hey, if he doesn’t kill you tonight, you can always tell the Headmaster later.

But instead of attacking, or anything you’d even remotely expect from an escaped criminal who has been described with an array of colorful language ranging from, _“Homicidal psychopath,”_ to _“Deranged beyond repair,”_ he hangs his head low, slouching on his front paws and not looking you in the eyes. And of all the things you expected him to do; you certainly didn’t expect him to _whimper_. Actually whimper! Like he’s nothing more than a dog that just got caught destroying your favorite pair of shoes! He looks pitiful, but you force yourself to not fall for it. It could just be a tactic to get you to lower your guard.

When this scenario played out in your head just hours before sneaking out, it never crossed your mind that the response to your confrontation would be a guilt-ridden Sirius still in his dog form. If you weren’t sure of him being Sirius Black before, you’re positive of it now. Part of you knew it during your search in the library, and the rest of you caught up when Sirius Black’s name appeared in the same place where you spotted Scruffy on the map, but any remaining doubt was thrown out the window when he decided to react by continuing to play the innocent dog route as a last ditch effort to get you to think you’re mistaken.

“Don’t start with the innocent puppy dog act.” You do your best to ignore it when he looks back up at you with a very shamed face. “Now more than ever will that get you nowhere.”

You don’t want to keep this charade up for any longer, but you’re scared that if you push it he’ll end up proving the way the papers have been describing him to be accurate, though so far you haven’t seen any indication that he was mad, or even going to hurt you. Maybe the intuition that led you to confronting him instead of going to the Headmaster wasn’t as off as you thought. Is there something more to this than you’ve been led to believe?

The only way you’ll know is if you see him, the real him. Your next words come out softly, and you try not to sound shocked to hear yourself saying them. “I’m not going to tell on you.” Not yet, anyway.

His ears perk up, and you think he might be as surprised by what you said as you are. “I need to at least talk to you face to face. If the situation was different, I wouldn’t even be asking; you probably smell better than a dog as you do a human. I have to know that I didn’t just risk detention, or possibly expulsion, all so I could come outside and interrogate a dog. I need the truth. I need to see it.” As you talk, you move to kneel down in front of him, forcing him to look you in the eyes. He doesn’t move away, so you can only assume he’s not objecting to the idea.

You feel a bit stupid as you look at him. All this time you thought him a regular, albeit very special, dog, but now as you observe him, interact with him beyond the ways you would a dog, it seems so obvious that he’s really a person. You should just leave it at this and turn back around before this can go any further- you’ve already proven to yourself that Scruffy is actually Sirius Black. Sirius Black, the murderer who has spent over a decade locked away in Azkaban; Sirius Black, the one who the ministry has described as a danger to everyone who crosses his path! Do you really need to see him with your own eyes?

And yet, you’re still here. There’s something that’s telling you that you don’t have the full picture, something that says he’s not being so cooperative for nothing. Not only that, but you’ve been this close to him more than once, in a lot more compromising scenarios. Yet he’s done nothing to endorse the image of him that the ministry has been hell-bent on portraying him as.

You’re losing it, [Y/N]. It’s not even your place to decide whether or not he’s as unhinged as people say! It’s none of your business!

But before you can say anything else, perhaps something like, _“You know what? I’ve changed my mind; time to put you back in prison where you belong and ignore any feelings I may have that are telling me differently!”_ Right before your eyes the dog that you’ve been caring for the past few days, feeding and pampering like he was practically your pet, transforms; from four legs to two, you watch as the massive dog turns into the very same man whose face is plastered throughout the wizarding world as a warning for people to stay away from him.

You let out a quiet yelp, stumbling back up from the ground and taking a few precautionary steps back. He’s taller than you expect, yet someone just as dirty. He’s still donning his Azkaban uniform, and his face is scratchy and unshaven, the features hiding underneath are dangerously gaunt despite the food you’ve been giving him, which makes you wonder just how bad the malnutrition was before. He looks so grimy that you wonder if you rubbed a finger against his cheek it would leave a streak. But his eyes are downcast, and he looks almost pitiful, if that’s really the right word; rubbing the back of his neck with his hand and still not looking you in the eye. It’s awfully out of character for the deranged convict you were expecting. Did he feel bad about lying? One would assume that leading a random student to believe you’re just a dog is awfully low on the things to feel remorse about for someone who supposedly murdered people; or was it being caught that made him look like that?

“How long have you known?” You aren’t expecting him to speak, and when he does his voice startles you; it’s dry and hoarse, as if this is the first chance he’s had in years to truly speak to another person.

“Since I saw _Scruffy_ leaping his way out of a window the same day Sirius Black of all people broke into the castle. I was suspicious, so the next day I went to the library and took a look at the yearbook from your 7th year, no offense, but you do look very dog-like. It was just a hunch, really.” You say plainly.

He smiles; another thing you’re not expecting from someone whose secret has been found out. “That’s clever, really.”

“I know,” You huff, trying not to let the compliment go to your head. “I probably gave half the Ravenclaw house a run for their money.”

“Why haven’t you gone to Dumbledore? Or contacted the ministry? You’ve seen me now, and you’ve known that I’ve been on the run as an animagus.” He’s doubtful.

“Well- I don’t know exactly. I also don’t know what makes someone who’s considered a public menace pretend to be a regular dog and mooch of a random student for food, either. You’ve had countless chances to kill me, I figured if you wanted to you would’ve already. I just wanted to get the truth.”

His face looks pained. “That’s because I’m not a killer- and why would I try to kill a student? I’ve never killed anyone, not yet.”

So he wouldn’t kill a student, well that’s comforting; too bad you can’t say that about the rest of his words. He’s not making this easy for you, is he? “I don’t want to state the obvious or anything here, but… You did just spend twelve years in prison. For murder, if I recall.”

“I was framed- betrayed! Stabbed in the back by one of my closest friends and put away for heinous crimes I never committed in the first place! The whole reason I broke out was to get my revenge!” He seethes.

That’s definitely not what you expected. There’s a lot of that going on lately, isn’t there?

“You understand why that’s hard to believe, right? If that’s the case, then why are you even at Hogwarts? Shouldn’t you be out trying to find your supposed backstabber?”

He eyes are wild, and despite the manic look in them at the mere mention of the backstabber, he still manages to roll them in exasperation. “He’s here at this school; Peter Pettigrew! He framed me for a crime I didn’t commit, sending me to Azkaban and leaving me to rot because he’s a coward!” He says it with pure malice.

Racking your brain for any students with the last name Pettigrew, you come up with no results. There aren’t even any Peters (or Pettigrews) among the newest first years that you can remember. “I’ve never heard that name before, are you sure you’ve got the right school?”

“I have proof!” His hand reaches into the pocket of his prison robe, and you can’t help but grab hold of your wand; but you release it when his hand comes back into view, holding a crumpled torn piece of paper with a picture on it, he holds it out expectantly for you to take it.

The picture is all too familiar to you; ripped straight from the Daily Prophet, it’s one you saw on the train to Hogwarts, shown to you by Fred and George as they told you all about their summer trip to Egypt. You stare confusedly at the picture of the family of redheads as they waved happily to the camera as they stood in front of the pyramids.

“T-The Weasleys? You’re looking for a Weasley? I mean I know there are a lot of them but I’ve never heard of one going by the name Peter Pettigrew-”

“No!” He lets out a frustrated growl. He inhales deeply through his nose, attempting to calm down and choosing to to channel his anger into running a hand through his hair impatiently, and you worry he’s going to start pulling clumps out if you don’t get the picture soon. “He’s not a Weasley! He’s the rat, the damned rat!”

You look back down at the picture, focusing on the rat that Ron Weasley held in his hands, the same rat you had just run into before leaving the Gryffindor Tower. Scabbers, isn’t it?

Okay, rewind a bit. So someone framed him? Peter Pettigrew framed him… And, he’s a rat- not just any rat, but Scabbers, the hand-me-down pet of Ronald Weasley? Oh- Now just wait a second- he means he’s an animagus then, right? If Sirius was an animagus, what made it impossible that Scabbers wasn’t a person hiding amongst a school full of staff dedicated to the safety of those inside of its walls, unsuspecting that there was a traitor in their ranks? Who the hell would suspect a kid’s pet rat to be anything more than that? It wasn’t much of a stretch, especially by the standards at Hogwarts. In the past two years anything that you would normally write off as a coincidence always ended up being much more than that. But how are you supposed to just trust his word and accept this crazy claim?

Wait- if Sirius’ name showed up in the same place he was in his animagus form, then that means…

Your eyes widen, a light bulb going off above your head when it hits you. Without hesitating you shove the scrap of paper against Sirius’ chest, too focused on hastily pulling the Marauders Map out from your back pocket. You ignore the sharp intake of breath that comes from Sirius when he sees you open the map, and he steps closer to look down at it as you open it. Pulling out your wand, you reveal its contents, your eyes darting right for the Gryffindor common room, the very same place you had seen the rat only a short while ago.

“That bastard,” You hear Sirius say, as his eyes land on the same name that you’re staring at in awe.

Right there within the common room, footsteps are moving rapidly in a circle, the name _PETER PETTIGREW_ following right above them to indicate who it is. You cover your mouth with your hand as the memory of seeing Scabbers being chased through the tower by a fluffy orange cat pops into your mind.

“I- he was getting chased by one of the younger girl’s cats, I walked right past him…” You whisper. “I can’t believe this.”

Sirius puts his hands on your shoulders, his grip firm. “But you can, you _can_!” You look up from the map to meet his eyes, and he’s looking at you with pure desperation, fearing the possibility that you still don’t believe him.

And you do, you really do. The truth is right there in front of you and there’s no denying it. But what are you supposed to do with this? Just leave, and continue on with the knowledge that Sirius black is hiding out as a dog and trying to kill a thirteen year old boy’s rat, not just any rat, but a human hiding out as one because he’s actually the murderer who framed him in the first place? That’s not going to work.

“I do. I believe you. But how is this possible? How did he get you put in prison for something you say he did?”

He looks distraught, having to relive memories that have haunted him for years. “My friends and I, we were working against the death eaters, against Voldemort. Peter was supposed to be the secret keeper, but then he betrayed us, he betrayed Lily and James, and they died because of him! That weakling! And then when I confronted him, he took the fool’s way out; murdered a whole street of muggles just to make it all point back to me and make him look like some kind of martyr.” The manic look in his eyes returns and you immediately fold the map up at the sight, carelessly shoving it back into your pocket and then, not knowing what else to do, you grab onto both of his hands that are still gripping your shoulders, you pull them away gently, and hold them in yours while giving them an affirming squeeze in the hopes of bringing him back from the past.

“Calm down,” You shush him softly, letting his hands fall back down to his sides as you let go. “Upsetting yourself isn’t going to get you anywhere, you’ve waited twelve years, and I think you can wait a few minutes longer to explain this to me, okay?”

He nods.

“Lily and James, you mean Harry Potter’s parents, right?” You recall from brief mentions of Harry’s childhood loss that tabloids still thought was worth bringing up years later, and he appears even sadder at the mention of the boy.

“Yes, Harry’s parents… His father and I were the best of friends, James even made me his godfather, I was supposed to be there for him. I was supposed to protect his parents- I was supposed to protect _him_ ; instead that rat is up there, lurking right outside the room where he’s none the wiser.” He sighs, hastily rubbing at his eyes in case of any stray tears that may have escaped during his explanation. “I think that’s enough for one night.” He says shakily, attempting to move the conversation away from the upsetting topic. “You should leave- now. It’s not safe for you out here. It’s a full moon; bad things happen on nights when there’s a full moon.”

“You were out here.”

“That’s different; I was simply keeping an eye out for any possible dangers.”

You snort, “Like what? Are there werewolves lurking around Hogwarts that you’re trying to keep in check?”

Sirius blanches.

Oh.

Your eyes widen. “I’m right, aren’t I?” You say, and the look on his face gives you your answer.

“Forget I said anything!” He starts, but it’s much too late for that.

“I bet it’s Professor Lupin, then! You guys knew each other back in your school days, right?” When he looks at you in pure bewilderment, you snap your fingers. “I knew it! Godric, I mean at first I wasn’t so sure-”

“Lupin? What? No- Shut up!” He realizes that he’s done himself in now, and stops himself before he can try to deny it again and fail miserably at it. He’s slow with his next words, hesitant to surrender to the truth. “How do you know all of that?” He says weakly.

“I overheard Snape discussing his suspicions about Lupin after you tried to get into the Gryffindor Tower, so when I looked into the yearbooks the next day and found out you were both Gryffindor’s and 7th years at the same time, I just assumed you two had a significant enough history to warrant his claims. But then he was the substitute for Lupin today and just so happened to teach about werewolves to _every_ grade level. If what I’ve been assuming is correct, Snape still hasn’t let go of any possible childhood grudges he may be holding against him. He’s really not good at being subtle, that man.”

“Of course he’d still be holding grudges.” He curses. “Snivellus can’t ever seem to act his age, but he can still act like he’s better than everyone, can’t he? I’m sure that hasn’t changed.”

You nod, “If you mean treating his students like they’re nothing more than dirt under his shoes, then yeah, he’s the same as he always was.” You pause. “Look, I’m in this for the long haul now, unfortunately. I haven’t seen any signs of werewolves since I left the castle, and I doubt I’m going to any time soon. So you can’t just expect me to happily sneak my way back into the castle and go to sleep until tomorrow when you explain the rest of this- this mess. And you definitely can’t expect me to just forget this never happened and move on, because that’s not happening. I’m not leaving until you tell me how you even plan to get him away from Ron; I hate to break it to you, but I’ve barely ever seen that rat more than 5 feet away from him in the past 3 years. If an actual murderer has been living in the same tower as me and a bunch of other students I have a right to know how you expect to get rid of him!”

He makes a face like he wants to argue the point further, but decides not to. “I- Just- Very well, come with me then. Regardless of if he’s out here, it’s still not safe to be out in the open like this.” He grabs you by the hand quickly, not at all bothered by the contact and forcing you to stay close as he leads you through the forest. You can barely see, yet he seems to guide you to wherever he’s leading you with utmost precision, as if he’s working on autopilot.

When he leads you to the Whomping Willow, whose branches are already swaying dangerously low at the sight of the two of you, you stop in your tracks. He turns back to look at you, tugging your hand to continue. “Come on, then. You want to hear more so I’m going to tell you.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion; does he not realize what tree that is? Or was he fully aware, and had a different idea of how this night was going to go? You tug your hand out of his hold, and only then does the action itself make him aware that he was still holding onto it. “If your plan was to have me bludgeoned by that forsaken tree so no one would think of you as a suspect when they find me missing from my bed, you’re out of your mind.”

He lets out a snort, amused by your worries. “Just trust me, can you do that?”

“I don’t think I’d be out here if I didn’t trust you, _Scruffy_. I think we reached full trust when I didn’t hex you after finding out it was Sirius Black who was playing dog this entire time. I’m lucky to not be traumatized.” You tease.

“I admit I got carried away. But you should trust me solely on the fact that I let you call me by that ridiculous name for so long!”

“Alright, so it’s not the greatest, but ‘carried away’ stopped at wanting me to scratch behind your ears and deliberate started when you decided to take a nap while strewn across my lap.”

“I- well. You could always take that as a compliment. You’re very comfortable.”

“You’re really not helping yourself.”

He sighs, not arguing the point any further. “You have your wand; can you please take it out?”

You look at him weirdly, but do it anyway.

“Do you see that knot, right there at the base of the tree?” he turns you by the shoulders so that your eyes lock onto the Whomping Willow’s trunk, pointing at the spot for good measure. “I want you to hit it with an immobilizing spell.”

“…Okay?” You take out your wand, aiming directly for the knot and firing _immobulus_ right at it. The spell hits its mark, and when it does the tree’s movements halt, the branches frozen and suspended before they can even come near you and Sirius. You can’t help but frown. “Why didn’t I ever think of that?”

Sirius chuckles as leads you to a hole in the base, sliding down with ease and helping you to follow. Down below the Whomping Willow, you find yourself in a tunnel, cold, dark and damp. Still holding your wand, you use the _lumos_ charm and hold it in front of you so you can see where you’re going. Sirius, who’s walking in front of you and not aided by any light doesn’t even look bothered by the darkness, and walks through the passageway with ease. It feels like it goes on forever, but as the tunnel rises up, you both reach a dead end, and just inches above you lies a loose wooden plank that stands out against the carved away earth around it. Sirius pushes it away and moves first to climb through it. You turn the light out on your wand, and allow him to pull you through.

When you realize that through the hole in the tunnel, you’ve just now climbed into the Shrieking Shack through one of its floorboards, you want to laugh. Of course he’d be hiding out in the very same place that was supposedly the most haunted place in Britain; him, the same man who everyone believed to be a terrifying mass murderer! How fitting. Terribly depressing, but still fitting.

The house is completely abandoned, barren of life and the little furniture that it contains is torn to shreds or covered in years of dust. Sirius leads you up the rickety staircase and you’re careful walking up them, fearing that one wrong step will send your foot right through the rotted wood. When you get upstairs, he collapses on a musty looking chaise lounge in the corner of one of the rooms, draping an arm over his forehead and exhaling deeply. You look around awkwardly, choosing to sit on the end of the canopy bed on the other side of the room, and you’re surprised that the old thing doesn’t break from under you.

“I just want you to appreciate how little I’m screaming right now. I’ll have you know that usually when attractive young adults are lured away to rundown cottages in the middle of the night by a smelly old man, they resist a whole lot more than I’m doing right now.”

“I’m not old!” 

“You’re not denying you’re smelly, though.” You say pointedly.

“It’s hard to find a decent place to bathe when everyone wants to kill you, my dear.”

“Touché.”

The conversation dies off there, but you’re satisfied to see a hint of a smile that ghosts Sirius’ lips, and it tells you he’s feeling better from the turmoil he went through while having to explain the truth to you about his current predicament. You feel bad for putting him through that, but it was the only way you could understand that he was innocent. You almost don’t want to speak up again, since he seems more peaceful than he’s looked since he revealed he wasn’t a dog, and you’d hate to break the quiet just to bring up the man who has caused him so much strife.

But it’s late, and you’re here for a reason. “How do you expect to lure out Pettigrew?” You ask gently.

His face falls at the words, and he lifts his arm away from his face to look at you. “I didn’t think of how, just that I had to.”

“So… you have no plan.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds bad. I have something in the works, but my conspirator still doesn’t fully trust me.”

“Wait, someone else knows?” you question with both eyebrows raised. Why hadn’t he mentioned that before?

“If you consider a cat to be a someone, then yes.”

You groan at the anticlimactic reveal, shaking your head. “That cat doesn’t happen to be ridiculously fluffy, orange, with a squished face and owned by a 3rd year Gryffindor who’s close to Harry Potter, does it?”

He confirms it with a sly wink. “It’s taking me a while to figure out how communicate with him, but he’s helpful when he wants to be; he came across me one night and knew right away I wasn’t just a dog, and it appears he’s done the same with Peter.”

“I guess that explains what I saw when I left the common room. I didn’t think that it could’ve been anything more than animal instinct and a craving for a freshly caught late night snack.” You nearly jump off of the bed as an idea that pops into your head sends you sitting up straighter, “You know, if putting all your faith in a cat fails, I happen to be very close friends with the Weasley twins. The same twins who just so happen to be the older brothers of the person who owns the rat you’re desperate to kill.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” He says casually.

“Is that why you started coming to me?” You can’t help but narrow your eyes. There have been so many coincidences leading up to tonight’s encounter that have turned out to be more than that, so you do wonder if your chance meeting with him was somehow premeditated. “Because you knew I was close to them?”

He shakes his head, flustered. “Actually, I found that bit out after. You were the only one who had been kind enough to humor me with offers of food so… I decided to keep an eye out to see what kind of person you were. After I ran into you on my way out of the castle I came back to, well, watch a bit. I saw you with them when they came back from Hogsmeade, they brought you sugar quills, right?”

You’re impressed that he can remember such a minor detail, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little relieved to know he didn’t intend to use you from the start. “The same day you decided to skip out on free food to harass the Gryffindor Tower portrait, yes?”

He visibly deflates, looking embarrassed at the mere mention of it. “Believe me, if I could’ve told you everything then, I would’ve; but you probably wouldn’t have believed me, would you? And I did get a tad angry, I could tell her passwords from my days there yet she still wouldn’t let me in!”

He does have a point, you probably would’ve ran straight to Dumbledore had you not been given the opportunity to mull things over and form the conclusion on your own. “Ignoring your terrible manners and the apology that you now owe the Fat Lady- you need Scabbers. And while I may not be a cat, I happen to have preexisting relationships with a few of them. So it wouldn’t be too weird if I told them that I’ve been thinking about getting a pet for a while, say, a rat in particular… And would _love_ to have some experience with owning one first. I bet Ron would let me take Scabbers off his hands for a while if it meant getting him away from the blood thirsty cat that keeps trying to swallow him whole.”

Sirius’ jaw goes slack as the idea sets in, and as soon as it does, he’s looking at you with wide eyes. “[Y/N], that’s brilliant. That’s absolutely brilliant!” He exclaims, looking happier than you ever thought he was capable of being.

“If I can get him to trust me with Scabbers, and more importantly, get Scabbers to trust that I’m simply trying to find out the best ways to treat and care for a regular, totally not a human in disguise, rat like himself, I can probably bring him right to you.”

He looks near the point of tears, breathing out as he slumps against the back of the lounge, the relief he feels at the possibility of getting his chance to be a free man, one who would no longer be a fugitive in the eyes of the law, is written all over his face. “Maybe I should’ve told you earlier, had I known you would come up with such an idea.”

“Now you know not to underestimate me.”

“I think any doubts I had about you vanished when you whipped out the Mauraders Map, and knew how to use it, no less.”

“You knew about the Marauders Map already?” you wonder. He did act surprised to see it when you used it to confirm Peter Pettigrew’s cover as an animagus, but you passed it off as astonishment that such a thing existed, you didn’t think that it was because he recognized it.

“Knew about it? I helped make that thing.”

You let out a guffaw at the revelation. “No way.”

He gives you a pointed look, offended by your disbelief. “ _Yes_ way. The name Padfoot? That’s me. Peter was Wormtail, James was Prongs, and your very own Professor Lupin was Moony. We called ourselves the Marauders, and each nickname is based off of our animagus forms, while Remus’ is based off of his… Ailment. The map wasn’t only for fun and games, it was vital for when the full moon came each month. We’d use it to get to the Whomping Willow without any prying eyes seeing us, then we’d all sneak through the Whomping Willow to this very shack. We’d keep Remus here out of sight and safe from any harm, that’s why we became animagi, so we could stay and help him without risking a werewolf bite of our own.”

“You guys were really close, then.” You remark, and you recall the pain in his voice when he mentioned the deaths of Lily and James. They must’ve been like family to him.

“The closest; you don’t just do all that for someone who’s anything less than a brother to you. But it’s all different now. And I fear Remus may not feel the same way as he once did. He still believes I committed those crimes that put me in Azkaban.”

“Maybe not now…” You trail off. “But the truth will always come out. Eventually you’ll get the chance to speak your peace to him. He just needs to see the proof, and that’s why I’m still here and haven’t gone running for the hills just yet.” That puts a smile back on his face.

“I hope you’re right,” He pauses, and his next words coming out shyly, as if he was debating saying them in the first place. “You know, I was going to take you back to the castle, but I think you should stay, only until dawn; when it’s safe to get you back.”

“I really don’t think Lupin is lurking around outside as a werewolf. Dumbledore wouldn’t just hire him and then let him loose every full moon right near a school full of kids; he’s got to have a better plan than that. And I can always use the map.” You shrug.

Sirius makes a noise of acknowledgement, looking away from you to glance out into the hallway, a faraway look in his eyes as he chooses not to meet yours. “You have a point- I do wonder how Dumbledore has made such an arrangement work… But just in case; there are other things lurking out there that may not show on the map.”

You suspect there’s another reason to why he wants you to stay, and when you take in the bleak atmosphere of the Shrieking Shack, the wood groaning as it sways against the night time breeze and the small amount of light in the room coming from the moon, it’s not hard for you to come to the conclusion that staying alone in such a house is enough to drive anyone up the wall. Going from one prison to a house that could easily become one with how little opportunities he’s probably had to leave it without being detected. Maybe it was a good thing you decided to not go back to the castle, maybe he just needed some company.

When you think of things like that, it gets harder to believe that only a little while ago you thought he was going to murder you.

Without another word, you sit up from the bed, walking towards him and lightly kicking your leg against his to get him to move over, he gives you a curious look, but obliges. You sit down next to him, casually crossing your arms over your chest while looking at him expectantly. “If I’m going to be here for the next few hours, then you better start telling me all the juicy details on what Snape was like as a teenager. I have two friends who are going to have to endure the next three years of his classes and they’re going to need all the insider information they can get to get back at him.”

The grin that forms on his face is possibly the most genuine one you’ve seen on his face the whole night, and there’s a flicker of mischief in his eyes that shines in the light of the moon that’s peeking through the boarded up windows of the shack. “Where do I begin…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accuracy? I don't know her. Never met her in my life. This is...... A lot. But now you know what's really going on! Finally! I know my writing skills aren't the best and I think this chapter might prove that to be obvious, but here's hoping you still enjoyed it. Now that I'm posting it I feel like it's bad but that's okay because I'm doing my best and it's fun to write and that's all that matters.
> 
> See you guys in my next update :^)


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get discouraged by your lack of progress in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and put your own plan in place to get Peter Pettigrew to Sirius. Harry takes a tumble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was almost longer, but I have to keep reminding myself that just because it's all on one word document doesn't mean it all has to be in one update, lol. It's not in my nature to write this much for one story; I usually just go wherever the writing winds take me, but I guess since this is basically my love letter to Sirius Black I have a lot to say, and I feel like if I don't get it out it'll haunt me forever. 
> 
> Also, I'll admit to having a lot of insecurities when it comes to my writing and whether or not it's good writing in the first place is something I probably won't ever be able to tell for sure, but the amount of positive feedback I've gotten on this is 100% more than I ever expected to get in the first place. I can't begin to explain how much it means to me, and every comment, kudos, bookmark, and view brightens my day. I only ever started this as a way of cheering myself up, but seeing that there are people who enjoy this and want to read more is a feeling I've never experienced before and it makes me really glad that I decided to post this! Wow. Just... Thank you all very much for humoring me and this silly story :)

It’s when you feel an arm drape itself over your shoulder; tucking you closer against the warmth of another body do you realize that at some point during the night you fell asleep.

Not only that, but you’ve fallen asleep _on_ someone.

You blink groggily as the contact rouses you from your sleep, your eyes adjusting to the room around you. At some point during Sirius’ retelling of his antics from when he was younger and the moments he had shared with his group of friends, the very same ones who helped make the Marauders Map, you must’ve fallen asleep against his shoulder. When you glance up at his face, his eyes are closed and his gaunt features are free of the lines of stress that seem to overshadow them when he’s awake, and it hits you that at some point after that, he must’ve fallen asleep as well. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, while his body is leaning up against the back of the lounge, his other arm still propped against it with his head resting in his hand from when he first nodded off.

You applaud his kindness to not just shoving you off the lounge as soon as you passed out, but the feeling of your cheeks growing hot at the realization that you just fell asleep draped against a man you barely even know is mortifying, to put it lightly. Carefully, as to not wake him up for the time being since he seems quite comfortable for someone sleeping in such an awkward position with dead weight lying against him for what must’ve been hours, you gingerly move yourself out from under his arm, placing it back down at his side as you scoot away from him. You’d stand, but you don’t trust the floor to not squeak and wake him.

Pulling up your sleeve and checking your watch, you make a face at the time it reads. 4:45 AM. Soon students and teachers alike will get getting up, and the early risers are the ones you need to be careful of if you want to get through the castle without anyone noticing you’ve been out of your bed all night. You really don’t want to wake Sirius; you can only imagine how long it’s been since he’s had a proper night’s rest, but you know he’d at least want to know if you’re about to skip out without a goodbye. He’s had enough problems with people betraying his trust in the past, and assurance that you didn’t leave while he had his guard down to go tell the Headmaster about his whereabouts is the least you can offer him.

You put a hand to his bony shoulder, shaking him lightly and doing your best to be gentle about it so he doesn’t get alarmed by the contact. He groans, sitting upright and rubbing his face as he wakes.

“You’re awake?” He mumbles, his eyes squinting through the dark as he turns to look at you.

You chuckle awkwardly. “Yeah, uh- sorry about falling asleep on you. I promise I don’t drool.” Nice one, [Y/N].

He lets out a breathy laugh. “It’s alright. It’s been a long night for both of us, and considering I fell asleep too, there’s no need to dwell on it.”

Comforting; but if anything you’ve already proven your inability to not dwell on things with everything you’ve done in the past few days.

“I didn’t want to wake you up, but we’ve only got a short window of time if I’m going to get back without Filch spotting me and putting my head on a spike as a form of punishment.”

You hold up your wrist to show the numbers on your watch, the digital lights are dim in the darkness of the room, and he leans forward to get a better look.

“Are you a muggleborn?” He asks at the sight of the technology. You forgot that digital watches are no more of a thing within pureblooded wizard society than any other type of electronics that muggles have come up with.

You shake your head. “I’m a half-blood.” You don’t feel hesitant to say it, knowing that Harry Potter himself is a half-blood, and if Sirius was friends with his parents then he must not have an issue with those who aren’t from a pureblooded lineage like himself. “My mum and dad moved here from America way before they had me, since relationships between witches and muggles were forbidden over there at the time. After the law got repealed they just decided to stay since we have family here, but most of them are on my dad’s side so I get a lot of interaction with muggles. Still don’t have a clue how this works in and around Hogwarts, though. It doesn’t even have a battery in it.” You grin as you tap the face of the watch, and it’s infectious upon Sirius, who smiles fondly in return.

“I’m glad; it’s nice to see someone so lighthearted about their blood status. I’m afraid I never got to experience that much when I was your age.” His eyes turn downcast, but he catches himself before he can get carried away with the morose feeling. “But yes, you’re right. Let’s go get you back to the castle.” When he stands, he stops you before you can move to the door. “I’m going to have to transform back into _Scruffy_ , if you don’t mind. I don’t need the dementors catching my trail again, and it’s a lot less incriminating to be caught with a dog by your side than it is to be with a public menace.” 

“I see that name is catching on,” You smirk. “And that’s fine; obviously I’m only here as an excuse to hang out with a dog.”

Down the creaky staircase, into the hole under the rotted wood floors, and back through the tunnel that leads you back out under a now moving again Whomping Willow (whose knot you have to poke before fully exiting the base; don’t want to get hit in the face by an unruly branch if you can stop it.) You find yourself walking back to the castle again, this time with Sirius Black at your side, trotting along in his dog form. You hold the Marauders Map in your hand, and glance down at it every now and then to be assured that no one would walk by and see you. Since Sirius can’t respond to anything you might say, there isn’t any conversation to be had on the way back, but as you reach the same window you snuck out of only hours before, you can’t help but start one, even if it’s only one-sided.

“I want you to know that I really do believe you,” You say quietly, hoping that the reassurance of your word will give him peace of mind after you two part, so that he can trust you won’t go back on your word to not tell on him. You wouldn’t. Not after everything he’s disclosed to you tonight. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to endure what you have, only to find yourself having to stay hidden and be denied your chance at the life you’ve missed out on. It’s not much but, I’ll do my best to help you get the freedom you deserve, okay?”

You can’t stand around trying to gauge his reaction, so you choose to leave it at that, turning to shimmy your way back through the window, pulling yourself up with all your strength and nearly tumble back in the same way you left.

When you poke your head out one last time to show you got in alright giving him a thumbs up, he takes that as his cue to leave, bounding away back towards the Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow.

***

A few hours later after having returned to the tower without a hitch and falling asleep as soon as you climbed into bed, you get oh-so-gently woken up by a pillow getting thrown at your face. You nearly fall out of bed at the sensation of being hit, a strangled sound of shock coming out of your mouth as you swat it away from you. You scowl at your roommate who stands at the end of your bed, her arms crossed across her chest.

“Why…” You hiss out.

“Because, you’re going to miss breakfast if you don’t get up! We were starting to think you were dead.” She says.

Another roommate heading past her to go out the door nods in agreement. “I suggested dumping water over your head; be glad it was her.”

“Oh, Hell.” You mutter as you flip the covers away, quick to get dressed and nearly tripping down the stairs of the dorm; only to find Fred and George are already standing with their arms crossed at the bottom of the staircase, waiting for you to deliver the map back to them. You hold it out in front of you as soon as you reach them at the bottom step. “I fell asleep as soon as I got back. Didn’t mean to keep you two waiting.”

“Mhm,” George sounds unconvinced.

“Long night?” Fred waggles his eyebrows.

You would slap him with the map if you knew it wasn’t so valuable. “Just take the damn map, will you?” They oblige happily, Fred plucking it from your hand and tucking it away in his jacket.

“Did it fulfill its purpose?”

“Yes, it did.” In more ways than one. You went from trying to prove that Sirius Black is an animagus, to finding out that he’s not only innocent, but that the real murderer is somewhere in the castle pretending to be a rat. 

Fred and George drag you with them to breakfast despite your protests of wanting to go back to sleep until your first class. They make idle conversation with you as you walk, but your attention isn’t all there and you’re limited to giving simple replies. Not only are you still tired, but you’re not over what happened between you and Sirius. Are you sure that even happen? Maybe you never even left the tower, and instead everything you thought happened last night was actually just a hyper realistic stress-induced dream. But you know better than to lie to yourself; the situation you’ve somehow found yourself wedged within is way past that point now and you know you’re not creative enough to conjure up such things. You couldn’t make up the authenticity of Sirius’ story even if you tried.

Teachers are already getting settled at their table when the three of you enter, some that go to breakfast before the mass of students start piling in are already leaving, but some are just arriving, Professor Lupin included. He’s covered in his signature tattered cloak, and you can see he’s using a cane today. Has he always looked like that after the night of the full moon? So worn and weak? There are tiny scratches lining his face, and he looks exhausted, his eyes glassy and bloodshot with deep dark circles underneath them showing a lack of sleep.

Not once during the night did you hear even a single howl come from within the Forbidden Forest, despite Sirius’ worries, and you wonder how it’s possible that he transformed during the full moon without any telltale signs aside from his now haggard appearance. Sirius did have a point; how _did_ Dumbledore make such an arrangement work?

Before you can realize you’re still standing, and blatantly staring at Professor Lupin, Fred and George pull you down to sit on the bench, already having noticed.

“Not falling for our newest professor, are you [Y/N]?”

“What? No!” You almost yell. What is with them trying to nose their way into your nonexistent love life? “I was just taking notice of his use of a cane today. Has he always had that?”

Fred and George look at each other before replying. “Maybe? I think I saw him use it once last month.”

They don’t take notice of the unusual nature of his using a cane, and you wonder if it’s the knowledge of his lycanthropy that Sirius had confirmed last night that makes all the little things stand out so much more. “Huh.” You say simply, and let the conversation drift out as you begin to make yourself a plate of food.

As you eat, your eyes drift further down the Gryffindor table, narrowing when they land on Ron Weasley, who’s seated among his fellow third years, with Sirius’ godson Harry Potter right at his side and the girl who owns the perceptive cat that’s in on the same secret as you sitting across from him.

He doesn’t have Scabbers- _Peter_ , with him, and as much as you’d like to breathe a sigh of relief, you know you can’t. It’s too early for you to have to pretend that he’s nothing more than a rat, but you still need to plant the seeds of your plan if you want to help Sirius, and that unfortunately requires you to have to interact with the man that’s been hidden in plain sight for so long.

Ignorance is bliss, and it’s awfully hard to recreate such a feeling when you know what you know.

“[Y/N],” George speaks up, causing you to turn away from looking at the group of third years.

“Is there any reason why you’re trying to burn a hole into our dear baby brother’s head with your fiery gaze?” Fred asks the question before he can.

“That’s weird, yeah? I just have a question about rats… and the care for them. I figured that Ron is the best person to ask since Percy entrusted him with Scabbers.”

“Why do you need to know about rats?”

“I was thinking about getting one. My birthday is coming up, and graduation will be here before you know it, so why not award myself for both milestones with the gift of companionship in the form of a pet?”

At the mention of your graduating, George pretends to wipe away tears from under his eyes, and Fred solemnly pats him on the back. “I had always assumed you were more of a dog person. It’s like we don’t even know you anymore, [Y/N]. Adulthood is changing you.” He says through his fake sobs.

“I think dogs are a lot more trouble than I originally believed.” A slow smile spreads across your face at your own inside joke. “So, do you think you can put a good word in with Ron for me? Maybe he can let me borrow Scabbers so I can get some experience in before I go out and buy a rat for myself.”

“I don’t think Ron is the best person to seek rat ownership advice from. It’s a wonder that grubby looking thing has lasted this long.” Fred says.

“And how long has it been, again?”

He hums in thought. “I don’t know, I can’t remember when Percy found him, but it’s been well over a decade, I’d say.”

“He’s been in our family for twelve years, more or less.” George chimes in to clarify.

“That’s an awfully long time…” You say slowly, trying to detect any sort of sign that they thought of it as odd.

They both shrug. “I dunno’,” Fred says. “Percy probably did something to him to make him stay alive this long, either that or all the terrible care he’s had to suffer through after getting passed down to Ron has given him a resilience that other rats can only dream of.”

You hoped that at least the twins would find his lengthy life span to be odd, but they look completely unfazed. Though, if they hadn’t noticed the name Peter Pettigrew loitering around by their brother’s side on the Marauders Map beforehand, it’s not that much of a leap to assume they wouldn’t think twice about the unnatural lifespan of one of the family’s pets. You grimace at the thought of them living in the same house as such a man for almost their entire lives without even knowing it. And to think you thought Sirius pretending to be a dog around you was bad at first.

“I suppose you really want a rat that badly, I don’t see why we can’t ask Ron about it.” Fred says.

“Have I mentioned how much I tolerate the two of you?”

“Don’t lie, [Y/N], we know how smitten you are with the two of us. One day we’ll get you to admit it!”

“Keep it up and you won’t live to hear it in the first place!”

***

Lupin’s class is significantly less dreary today when you walk in; with all the shutters open once more and the projector tucked somewhere out of sight. He’s shuffling through papers at his desk when students begin to walk in, and he looks up to greet each one with a smile. “Hello, class. It’s good to see you all again. I apologize for my absence yesterday, but I trust you were left in good hands with Snape as my substitute.”

The same girl who had told you how Snape was teaching the same material to every class is the first to complain about your Potions Professor, visibly upset by the lack of material learned the day before. “He taught us and every year below us about werewolves. We didn’t get to try the Patronus Charm like you promised.”

Lupin’s eyes widen briefly, and you can see a flicker of fear flash across his face before he masks it with a tight-lipped smile when he looks back at her. “That is very curious, indeed. I shall have a word with him later on the matter. For now, let’s pick up where we left off last week- with the Patronus Charm, just like you said.” She’s pleased with his answer, and so is the rest of the class. The mention of the charm gets everyone excited and successfully diverts any focus that still remains on Lupin’s absence back onto the prospect of finally learning such an important line of defense.

At the start of the term when Professor Lupin found out this his N.E.W.T. level students never had the opportunity to learn how to produce a Patronus due to last year’s replacement, Gilderoy Lockhart and his abysmal teaching skills, he swore that by the end of the school year almost all of you will be capable of producing a Patronus of your very own. In the previous weeks it’s been nothing but learning the foundation of what the charm consists of, and everyone is eager to get to finally try it firsthand.

With a wave of his wand, the desks that are still out are slid away into the corners of the rooms, and everyone takes out their wands, standing in two rows facing each other on opposite sides of the class.

“First, I want us to start out simple. If someone ends up conjuring a corporeal Patronus today, don’t be discouraged if you yourself still cannot. Producing such a powerful Patronus can vary depending on the person, but it typically doesn’t come on the first try, some of you might never be able to, due to the complexity of the spell; but I’m not grading you solely on your ability to conjure one.” There’s a chorus of relieved murmurs at that. “I want you all to begin first with thinking of a happy memory; the happiest you can think of. Don’t be afraid to close your eyes and take a moment to picture what that may consist of for you. When you have one in your mind, say the incantation, “ _Expecto Patronum”_ and draw out a circle with your wand to cast it. Continue this action until you can sense it working, if you have to try a different thought because you believe yours isn’t powerful enough, try that. Now, let’s begin.” Everyone looks to have been thinking of a strong enough happy thought while he was explaining, and as soon as he finishes there’s a portion of students already attempting to perform the spell.

Faded wisps of silver appear out the tip of some of your classmate’s wands, small, barely even noticeable at first, until soon there’s a portion of your class already close enough to producing a real Patronus, the smoky magic escaping with their exclaiming of the spell and brightening the room with its blinding light.

You try not to be frustrated, but as class goes on and more of the students around you are producing partially formed Patronus’ of their own and you can’t get anything to happen, it’s not hard to be discouraged. Lupin promised it would take a while, but you didn’t expect to be one of the people who take the longest to accomplish such a feat. When your hand drops to your side and you sigh in frustration, Lupin comes to your side, placing a supportive hand on your shoulder. “[Y/N], just because you’re a N.E.W.T. level student, does not mean you’re expected to conjure such a spell on the first try, it may be hard to see others begin to master it before you, but this is very complex magic; something that takes time to practice and perfect. You’ll get there eventually. Have you tried thinking of a different happy memory?”

“I’ve gone through so many so far that I might be running out. I’m going to have to resort to making up ones if one doesn’t work soon.” You grumble.

He chuckles. “I’m grading this on effort and willingness to learn, not on the ability to produce it. In some cases, it’s possible to not yet have a happy enough memory. It’s not to say you have no happy memories, but this has to be a strong, significant one to maintain the spell’s strength. You’re young, [Y/N]; there’s no rush. I have no doubt that it will come to you eventually.”

As kind and genuine as the words sound, it doesn’t help you to not feel discouraged. So you may be capable of producing it already, but you might not have a happy memory strong enough to produce it? What a scam. How was having a relatively cheerful disposition going to help you if you can’t even use it towards performing one of the most powerful defensive charms? You certainly don’t want to have to wait what could be years until you’ve experienced something happy enough to get it to work.

By the end of the lesson, you want to crawl back to your room in shame. No one could care less about your lack of performance on the spell, and it’s not as if you aren’t the only one who can’t do it. A few Slytherins proved to be unsuccessful also, and it did cheer you up a bit to see Percy struggle up until the very last second, but not being the odd one out doesn’t come as a comfort for you, since you’re too caught up in the fact that it wasn’t your performance that was keeping you from perfecting the spell, you just don’t have a happy enough thought, apparently.

You went through so many happy memories, all of them leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in your heart as you thought back to them fondly. Birthdays shared with friends and family, vacations, even small interactions between you and your friends that you’ll always think back to with a smile. So why did nothing come from any of them? How could these memories, all very happy to you, not be strong enough in the first place? And how happy of an experience is it going to take for you to be able to produce a Patronus?

***

After your disappointing Defense Against the Dark Arts Lesson, and despite the steadily dropping temperature, you go back to the dorms to put on the thickest jacket you can find in your trunk to keep yourself warm (though the same can’t be said for the rest of you), and after stopping by the Great Hall, you head outside for lunch; needing the time away from school and willing to deal with the cold if you must.

You bag is heavy with food, and you feel kind of weird having packed so much- unsure if Sirius is even going to continue showing up as a dog now that you’re aware of who he actually is. But you don’t see why he wouldn’t, unless he feels like trying to survive off of scraps from rubbish bins in Hogsmeade and starving to death before winter arrives, and it feels like it’s coming early.

You shiver to yourself as you sit down on the grass, but soon enough you forget about the frigid temperature, your attention shifting to focus on the familiar head of a dog that pops its way out of the nearby brush of the Forbidden Forest.

“Look who decided to show,” You say as he comes towards you, sitting obediently next to you and trying not to stare at the bag at your side. “I thought you would’ve been holed up in the Shrieking Shack debating on the etiquette of coming back here as a dog to get free food off me.” He bats his paw against your bag, not breaking eye contact as he does. Has he no shame? “Clearly the desperate side won this round.”

Did he just roll his eyes? The audacity of this man is astounding. “I think I liked you better when you were just a dog.”

He makes a face that you can only describe as what would be a sarcastic, “ _Really_?” if he could speak properly in this form.

You pull the bag out from under his paw before he can continue; opening it and casually placing the food out in front of him. “Since I’m now aware of your predicament, I guess sticking to the dietary restrictions of a dog are off the table now, so I brought some fruit and vegetables too; we can’t have you getting scurvy. Ha. I crack myself up sometimes. Will you stop looking at me like that? Cut me some slack, I’m doing my best to hold a one-sided conversation here. If no one here is able to laugh at the things I say I have to do it myself.”

He stops his eating to make a face that leads you to believe he wouldn’t be laughing even if he could.

“You should drop the attitude, you happen to be sitting in the presence of a future rat owner in training, all thanks to the good word that Fred and George are about to put in for me with Ron.”

His head snaps back up to look at you, taking on a much more serious demeanor at your words.

“Step one to getting my hands on your backstabber is a go. I asked them this morning if they could see about it, and I don’t see why Ron wouldn’t be willing. I’ll probably have to keep hounding them so they’ll remember, but it’s a start.”

You have to keep reminding yourself that the dog you’re talking to is Sirius Black, because it’s hard to imagine the man you’ve seen with your very own eyes just last night, who was nothing more than skin and bones and dirt and a face that would make any wizard who paid attention to the papers run in the opposite direction being the dog in front of you who’s wagging his tail at the possibility of getting his freedom.

You’d like to talk more about how you’re going to lead Ron into believing you have a genuine interest in rats, but you’d much rather wait until Sirius can voice his responses properly as a human instead of yes or no answers through the form of head movements and tail wags. Instead, you move onto a different topic, one with the only thing at stake being your pride.

“Scruffy,” The nickname causes him to huff. You ignore it; you can’t feasibly stick to calling him Sirius when out in the open like this, so he’s going to have to deal with being called by such a _ridiculous_ name every now and then. “Do you know how to conjure a Patronus?”

He gives you a nod, and you groan. He tilts his head to the side, curious as to why you’ve asked such a question and why you’re reacting in such a way. “We’re learning to cast it in class, and for some reason I can’t get it to work. Not even a little bit! Your dear friend Lupin thinks that I haven’t experienced a happy enough memory to conjure one yet.” You know he can’t respond like this, so you continue your venting.

“You know what? I don’t care. It’s too early to say it, but I give up! I give up. I don’t even care that it’s defeatist of me to think that way, either. I wish I could’ve taken Care of Magical Creatures this year; I bet I would’ve gotten extra credit by taking you with me under the guise that I had tamed a grim. Can you imagine that?” You chuckle, your shoulders shaking with the laugh. Sirius looks like he doesn’t find that any funnier than your last joke, but you brush his unamused look off with a wave. “I’ve got to laugh away the pain; both mental _and_ physical. It’s freezing out here and I think if I stop moving I’m going to be frozen in this position. You’re lucky you’re so fluffy as a dog; you can’t tell how horrid it is.”

Sirius looks to ponder what you said, and to your surprise he moves closer, laying down by your side and resting his head beside your leg. “Are you trying to keep me from freezing to death?” He lifts his head slightly, as if to say yes, and you can’t help but laugh. “I guess if it keeps me alive to continue bringing you food, then it’s okay.” He closes his eyes, relaxing into his position and appears to be comfortable enough to take a nap right then and there if he really wanted to. It’s a touching gesture, and you almost take it as a compliment to know he trusts you enough to do that. With everyone out to get him and trying to throw him back in the cell he should’ve never been in in the first place, you appreciate that he can relax around you, if only just a little.

The feeling of being comfortable in the other’s presence is mutual, that you’re certain of now. Or maybe you were already certain of it when you managed to accidentally fall asleep on him only after a few hours of finding out the truth about him; talk about a serious display of trust. But despite the limited interactions you can have with him, Sirius’ company, even as a dog, really has been a welcomed change of pace like you originally thought it was before you knew who he really was- even if it has escalated to helping him prove his innocence by catching a murderer.

***

As the week starts to pass you by, the frustration over still being unable to perform the Patronus Charm mixed with your growing impatience at the lack of progress being made with getting your hands on the rat-that’s-not-a-rat is fully stressing you out, and even the company of Sirius during your lunch breaks isn’t helping.

Fred and George had promised to speak to Ron, but every time they ask about Scabbers, Ron grows annoyed at the mention of him, upset by the fact that he himself can’t even find him, because, _“That blood demon cat!”_ Whose name you found out to be Crookshanks, who is owned by Hermione Hermione Granger, the 3rd year who could give you and the rest of your fellow N.E.W.T. level 7th years a run for your money, has been relentless when it comes to attacking Scabbers, and is sending him into such terrified fits that he’s taken to running away and hiding for days at a time.

It’s hard to hide your anger, not towards Ron, but towards the spinelessness of Peter Pettigrew, who still continues to keep up his charade of pretending to be a rat even when he’s left defenseless in the warpath of a cat that will stop at nothing to get its paws on him. You wonder if you should ask Sirius if he could get Crookshanks to lighten up, because while the cat may see you as some kind of rat catching competition, his unyielding force when it comes to catching Scabbers is only sending him further away from your grasp and ruining your own plans of getting him to Sirius. Neither of you are going to be able to help Sirius and put an end to Peter’s deception if you can’t even find him in the first place. You were already planning on meeting up with Sirius during the weekend anyway, but this time without the use of the Marauders Map aiding you. Fred and George will get suspicious if you keep asking for it, and now that you know the best way of getting out of the castle undetected, you’re just going to have to rely on your own skills to not get yourself caught in the process.

When Saturday finally arrives, so does the much anticipated start of Quidditch season. You wake early to the sound of Quidditch gear clanking together and loud conversation from the common room. With a groan you shove your head under your pillow to hide from the ruckus. As excited as you are, you were hoping to get some extra sleep in before the match so you could successfully go to the Shrieking Shack tonight and not end up passing out on Sirius halfway through the night, but that’s definitely not happening now. It’s practically a requirement to show your support for Gryffindor by going, so if everyone is already up and ready to go, it’s only a matter of time before someone is barging in and forcing you to get ready. You lay there for a few more minutes, gathering up the incentive to get out of bed and becoming increasingly aware of the sound of rain pelting against the windows of the dorm. Poor Oliver Wood, a torrential downpour on Gryffindor’s first game of the season? The guy really can’t catch a break.

When you finally get up to get ready for the match, you end up getting swept away in the excitement, wearing your house colors with pride and even going so far as having a bit of face paint applied on your cheek by one of the girl’s in your year. You throw on your rain poncho, Gryffindor emblem proudly displayed on it and charmed to be extra waterproof for games just like this one, and leave the dorm, heading down the heavily crowded moving staircases and following the hordes of people to the Quidditch Pitch. Just as the teams are heading out to the field, gear on and brooms in hand, you make your way up to sit in the stands high up in the air, which give you a great view of aerial sport.

When Madam Hooch raises her hand and blows into her whistle, the match begins.

The wind is unbearable and the rain is coming down hard, yet the game plays on as it would on the sunniest of days, each move by the players is precise and all the work that they put in shows in their performance. The face paint on your cheek has but all melted off from the rain pelting against you, yet it doesn’t bother you, nor does it bother those around you; too focused on the match and how it will play out for your house.

There’s a crash of thunder and your eyes follow towards two of the players as they break away from the rest, flying higher in the sky and barely visibly as they fly through the dark clouds. It doesn’t take long to recognize them as the seekers, both speeding towards what you assume is the snitch somewhere above them, how they can see in the blinding rain is beyond you, but it captures your focus nonetheless, and you’re hypnotized by their movements, eager to see the outcome.

As your eyes follow them up, a spot of black in one of the highest towers on the opposite side of the pitch that remain empty due to the risk of getting struck by lightning catches your gaze. Just barely, and it’s so brief that you almost miss it, but your lock on the two players is broken when you squint to see through the rain and inspect the empty tower. There, sitting upright and as stiff as a statue is a black dog; not just any black dog, but Sirius’ animagus form. You swear it’s him, it has to be. Unless there’s another oversized black dog roaming the grounds with human-like characteristics and a slightly haughty personality to boot.

He looks awfully out of place in the empty stands, soaked to the bone with his head is high in the sky as he watches the match like you do, his own eyes locked onto the two seekers as they continue their ascent, and you know he’s most likely only focused on one of them, Harry Potter.

There was a shout from beside you, and you look to find the people around you staring above at the sky in horror, you turn your head up to look to see what was causing the sudden tense atmosphere to see a body coming into view, plummeting fast towards the ground. It’s Harry, his broom nowhere to be seen as he free falls straight to the earth below. Black smoky figures are floating down after his form, skeletal body parts peeking through the black that billows around them. The closer they get the more you’re able recognize them. Dementors.

You hear Dumbledore’s voice bellow out a spell and Harry’s movements are halted, his body being lowered gently to the ground as the crowds begin to part and rush from the stands to get a better look at what happened. Teachers and staff are making their way out onto the field below to assure the safety of the players, and some are pointing their wands to the sky, sending out their own Patronuses to send away the remaining dementors who are floating dangerously close to the action.

When you turn away from the commotion to look back at Sirius, the rows are empty.

The game is put to an end at that, and Hufflepuff leaves with a win because Cedric Diggory had more than enough time to grab the snitch while Harry was having a near death experience and plunging through the sky without a broom. He’s carried away on a stretcher conjured up by Dumbledore himself and rushed to the infirmary, and rumors are already swirling around about his current condition.

When you exit the stands and reach the bottom of the steps to the pitch, ready to make your way to walk back to the castle with the remaining students who are about to leave, an arm comes out from the tarps colored in Hufflepuff house colors, grabbing you by the fabric of your rain poncho and pulling you under and into the wooden frame of the pitch, successfully keeping you out of sight from behind the decorations, before you can even scream, Sirius is putting a finger to his lips, shushing you quickly so you don’t make a sound.

“What the hell are you doing?” You whisper angrily. He’s soaking wet; his hair weighed down with rain and his waterlogged clothes are clinging against his frame. “Are you out of your mind? Wait, no- don’t answer that! It was you sitting in the empty stands, right? I assume you saw what happened? Dementors are lurking way too close to the grounds! If they catch you-“

“I heard that he’s a seeker, just like his father; I just wanted to see. But that fall; he wasn’t even conscious- is he okay? Do you know if he’s okay?” His voice cracks halfway through the question and you feel bad that you only now take notice that he’s trembling as well. Any anger you might have for his recklessness is washed away with the rain and you’re too focused on the fact that he’s freezing and terrified for the only family he has left.

“Hey- Hey,” You put your hands onto his arms, rubbing them to warm him up. It’s midway through the action do you realize that this impulsive contact with him is the second time you’ve lacked any awareness of the personal space between the two of you, but he doesn’t mind, and thank Godric he doesn’t mention it, instead, he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering close at the warmth you supply him with. It’s quite a compromising position to be in with the man who is in danger of being caught by being so near the crowds of people still making their way out of the Quidditch Pitch. “I’m sure he’s fine. If you haven’t noticed, that kid has at least six good lives left in him at this point. I heard from Fred and George he fainted on the train at the start of the year because of the dementor that got on, so he probably had the same reaction when they got too close to the pitch. They seem to have a nasty effect on him, and they will on you if you don’t get out of here before they sense you’re near! If it helps, I’ll go to the infirmary and check if he’s okay with my own eyes.”

You mean what you say, and you have no doubt that it’s the best thing for you to do. Maybe it’s the worry in his eyes, or the pained look on his face, but you can’t leave him with the fear of not knowing if Harry’s okay in good conscience. Harry is the last ties he has to James; he’s his godson and you can see how deeply he cares for him, and he hasn’t even met him properly yet. You’ve never spoken to Harry before, and if he even knows who you are it’s only by extension of him being friends with Ron, whose own extent of knowledge about you is that you’re friends with the twins and share classes with Percy. But it wouldn’t seem out of character for you, his Gryffindor upperclassman, to go and see if he’s okay.

“You’d do that for me?” he says.

“Of course.” You murmur. “He’s your family; maybe not by blood, but it’s clear how much you care for him. I know if you don’t have assurance that he’s okay you might worry yourself to death or try and sneak into the hospital wing yourself; and it wouldn’t be right to come without making sure I can tell you exactly how he’s doing.”

That puts a small, barely-there smile on his face. “You’re too kind to me, [Y/N]. I still don’t understand why you continue to go the extra mile to put yourself in thick of things to help me when I don’t deserve it.”

You shrug, feigning a look of disinterest at his words. “You’re growing on me. And I think my need to see justice come to fruition is dictating most of my decision making, if I’m being totally honest.” You wink, letting your hands drop away from his shoulders, nearly forgetting that you still have them there in the first place. You don’t miss the way the corners of lips twitch down ever so slightly at the loss of contact, but perhaps it’s just a trick of the light, or the absence of it within the shadows of the tarps keeping you both hidden from view. “Now, if you would please make like a man who actually cares if he lives to see tomorrow and get yourself as far away from this Quidditch Pitch as possible, that’d be great. I can’t feasibly tell you about how Harry’s faring if you get caught by dementors, can I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've suddenly lost the ability to read my own writing. I don't know how you guys do it, really.
> 
> Here's a good question that's been stuck in my head for a while now, so feel free to answer if you'd like! Who do you see as Sirius Black? I know Gary Oldman plays him in the movies, but it seems like the general consensus of fans is that Ben Barnes is the perfect fancast for him. Do you picture him as either of them? Or do you have another person in mind who you think would be the perfect Sirius? I'd tell you who I picture, but I wouldn't want to ruin the visual for you if you picture someone different than I do ;^)
> 
> And with that, I must bid you adieu until the next chapter!


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go to check on Harry and relay what you find back to Sirius, who is more than grateful for your consideration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve! And if you don't celebrate Christmas, then I hope you have a great week and a happy new year! There isn't anything special about this chapter (if only I started this story earlier, because we're close to Christmas time in it, just not close enough!) but it's being posted near a holiday so... That makes it special? I was going to post this /on/ Christmas, but I have a hard time waiting to post a chapter when it's all done and ready to be posted!

You part with Sirius after promising to check on Harry; going back to the castle and ridding yourself of the remains of face paint staining your face and your still dripping rain poncho. When day turns to evening, and evening to night, you finally make your way out of the tower, slipping past the beds of your now sleeping roommates and taking your jacket with you, since after visiting Harry your next destination will be the Shrieking Shack to meet with Sirius once more.

When you reach the Hospital Wing, you stop outside of the doors. Is it too late to give yourself a pep talk to get yourself through what could be a potentially awkward encounter? You’ve waited the appropriate amount of time for close friends and teammates of Harry to leave his side, and for Madam Pomfrey to resign back to her office for the rest of the night, so you know you won’t have to explain your reasoning to them, but what are you supposed to say to Harry? _“Hello, you don’t know me that well -if at all- but I’m on pretty good terms with your godfather; you know, the same guy that everyone thinks is a crazy death eater who will murder anyone who gets too close? Anyway, he’s really worried about you, so I’m just dropping by to see if you’re alive or not!”_ Improvisation isn’t really your strong suit, but you’re not about to go back on your word to Sirius. And hey, you’re a brave and bold Gryffindor, aren’t you? A little social interaction never hurt anyone before!

Actually, with your luck you’d probably end up being the first that doesn’t apply to.

You square your shoulders, pushing open the doors before your internal, anxiety-induced monologue goes on for too long. Most of the beds are barren, and one boy is sleeping on the bed at the back of the room, but the one you’re looking for is closest to the door, fast asleep and looking very much alive. You sigh in relief, whispering a relieved, _“Yes!”_ under your breath at the sight of a perfectly fine Harry Potter. You feel silly for being worried in the first place; you don’t need a compelling enough reason for visiting him that’s believable anymore, because you don’t have to explain yourself to someone who’s not awake to hear it.

You take the time to observe him properly, even going so far as to take a glance at the medical notes on the board at the end of his bed, thankful for having learned enough about the art of healing that you can decipher all of the medical terms scribbled down by the matron. He looks fine, albeit a bit pale with a few scrapes here and there, but in good health nonetheless. You’re relieved to know you won’t be going to Sirius with bad news about his godson.

Satisfied to know he’s okay, you pivot on your heel, ready to leave- but the sound of a voice laced with sleep calling out causes you to freeze, turning back around to find Harry waking up. “Hello?” He greets questioningly, his eyes are barely open, and he clumsily reaches out for his glasses resting on the table beside him, putting them on to get a better look at who it is visiting him so late. “Who are you?”

So much for not having to make up an excuse. You just _had_ to jinx it, didn’t you? “Hello! You’re awake and coherent- that’s great! I’m a Gryffindor, too; a 7th year- you might know me? [Y/N]?” You sputter.

He nods after a moment of thought, recognition finally showing through, but he doesn’t look fully certain. “I think I’ve seen you with Fred and George sometimes?” It comes out as a question.

“That’s me; you’ve probably seen me getting dragged into their shenanigans every now and then.”

“They’re fine, though? Are you looking for them?”

You shake your head. “No, I actually came here to see you. I saw you take that nasty spill during the match. As one of your seniors I’m…” Failing miserably at thinking of an excuse on the spot? “-Here on behalf of the rest of the 7th years to make sure you’re okay!” Nailed it. “Except for Wood, though. I’m not here on his behalf, so maybe don’t tell him. I mean, you can- but, uh, he’s a sensitive boy, you know? Wouldn’t want you to know he cares about more than just the game; and he can tell you all that on his own. Anyway, you’re alive. That’s good. It’s best that I be on my way now!” Sirius owes you big time.

As you attempt to hastily make your way from the room, Harry’s voice stops you when you reach the doorway. “Wait a second!”

“Yes?” You turn your head to look at him and pray he hasn’t seen through your long-winded, nonsensical reason for checking in on him.

“Thank you.” He gives you a tired smile, and you repeat the action back. Phew.

“No need for thanks, Harry. I’m sure there are a lot of other people looking out for you that you don’t even realize are in the first place!” Who did you learn the art of subtlety from, [Y/N]? Professor Snape?

Hopefully he doesn’t think too much about the speed at which you exit the Hospital Wing. When you’re far enough away you slow down your pace. It’s late enough that if you’re spotted, you’re going to get into a fair bit of trouble, so you have to be cautious. Speeding through the halls in the middle of the night doesn’t really scream inconspicuous.

You feel proud of yourself as you make your way through the barren corridors of the first floor. Sure, you’ve done this countless times without the Marauders Map, but it did feel like a lot less was at stake when you were only sneaking out to get to the kitchens, something that tons of other students have done and will continue to do long after you leave Hogwarts. If you were caught now, you’d be scared whoever finds you would be able to see right through you and know you were up to more than getting a late night snack.

So far you’ve done pretty well for yourself, but as you turn down a corner with a proud smile on your face, it becomes clear that you’ve gotten ahead of yourself once more, as for the second time during this school year you’ve bumped right into Professor Lupin.

The smile drops from your face as you stare wide eyed at your teacher. He’s surprised to see a student out of bed so late, but collects himself before speaking. “What might be you doing up, Ms. [Y/N?]”

The even tone of his voice causes you to come back to your senses, putting a smile back on your face and chuckling at the fact that you’ve been caught red-handed, masking the reality with a lie you hope he doesn’t see through. “Looks like you caught me. I got hungry, so I thought I could go grab a snack from the kitchens.”

“I believe the kitchens are in the other direction, [Y/N].” Oops.

“Guess I got lost. It’s happens quite a lot, I’ll have you know.” the laugh you let out makes you want to strangle yourself. Very smooth, [Y/N].

“Hm.” He hums, as if he’s debating whether or not to punish you. “Haven’t you had seven years of experience to remember the layout of the castle? The location of the kitchens has always been something of common knowledge among Hogwarts students.”

“My memory isn’t what it used to be, Professor. I fear I’m growing more senile as my 18th birthday gets closer. Time is truly a fickle thing, isn’t it?”

“And the jacket? It isn’t so cold in the basement that you’d be needing one.”

Oh, come on. Now he’s just tormenting you. “It does when you intend to carry as much ice cream as you possibly can back to your dorm.” You wink. Merlin, please have mercy; you’re digging your own grave at this point.

He finds your jokes to be a lot more amusing than his old friend Sirius does, because he can’t stop the smile that forms on his face. “You’re quite good, aren’t you? Very well, I assume your memory of how to get back to the Gryffindor Tower hasn’t left you just yet? You should make your way back now. You don’t want to be caught out of bed so late by someone less forgiving.”

You nod rapidly, giving him a mock salute for added measure as he leaves.

_“You’re quite good?”_ It sounds like he’s seen right through you, but he’s letting you off the hook without so much as an obligatory detention? The complexities of that man.

You don’t want to push your luck any further, and you also don’t want to stay standing out in the open after you just agreed to head back to the dorms, lest another teacher finds you there and isn’t as lenient, or Lupin comes back around and finds you haven’t gone back to the dorms like he told you to, so you move quick, making your way out of the corridor and being extra careful to look behind you for anyone who could see you as you slide into the supplies closet, climbing your way out through its always open window.

You repeat your actions from the last time, keeping to the shadows and creeping across the grounds out of sight from anyone who could be looking out from one of the many windows of the school. You don’t waste any time getting to the Whomping Willow, whispering out _Immobulus_ and just about running through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. When you get there, poking your head out through the space where the floor board once was, Sirius is already pacing back and forth in front of the secret entryway, anxiously waiting for you. The sight of you causes him to stop in his tracks, already kneeling down to give you a hand out of the tunnel. He looks frazzled; his hair is messier than it was earlier, and you suspect he’s been nervously toying with it while waiting to hear from you about Harry.

“Do you always pace like that?” You ask as you take his hand, allowing him to help pull you up.

“Keeps me calm.” He mutters, still holding onto your hand even after you’re already standing in front of him. He’s staring down at it with intensity, looking unsure if holding your hand is alright with you. It’s not hard to read between the lines of the contact; with his pacing now stopped he needs something else to soothe his restlessness, and keeping his hand on yours gives him something to focus the extra energy on. You put your other hand on top of his as to tell him it’s okay.

He looks out of it, and you sense that the worry is eating away at him. Hoping to bring him back to reality, you don’t hesitate to bring up Harry, whose well-being is what must be on the forefront of his mind and making him so upset. “I’ve got some news to keep you calm without wearing away the already worn floor.” His eyes snap up from your intertwined hands. “Harry is absolutely fine. Madam Pomfrey has a tendency to be paranoid, so she’ll probably end up keeping him holed up in the hospital wing until she’s satisfied that he’s leaving with a clean bill of health. No losses of limb or comatose seekers were anywhere to be found when I got there.”

Relief floods his features, and his body sags at your words. You think he’s going to let go of your hand with the good news that appears to take a load off of his mind, or move away from standing so close to you to let you by, but he doesn’t look ready to yet. When his hands do pull away from yours, he only moves to wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against him into a tight hug.

Do you hug back? Why do you suddenly not know how to return a hug? You don’t normally react this way. Hell, Fred and George are always displaying a complete disregard for your personal space; so why would this be any different? What is it about him being blasé towards showing you affection that changes the way you react? It’s not unpleasant, far from it; and that surprises you; it’s an awfully nice hug, as far as hugs go. You can feel him breathing against your hair, and with you being pressed against his chest like this, you can hear the rapid beating of his heart- from anxiety, maybe? If you could hear your own, you have a sneaking suspicion that it’d sound the same. Overly aware of your arms moving on their own, you allow yourself to give in to the urge to return the gesture; wrapping your arms around his middle and leaning into his touch **.**

“Thank you. Thank you, [Y/N]. I can’t imagine if something were to happen to him.”

Is he speaking? He’s speaking, isn’t he? How did you not realize he’s started talking? You’re really overthinking this, [Y/N].

Once his murmuring of _thank-you’s_ die off and he realizes that he’s let the hug run on for what could possibly be too long, he pulls away rather quickly; but takes a moment before letting you go fully, his hands still holding your shoulders like he isn’t sure if he imagined the action or not. Does he think you’re going to float away if he lets go? You let go of him, and he looks down at you with a sheepish smile, his pale complexion is tinged pink and he looks more alive than before with the added color. “Sorry. I got carried away, didn’t I? I guess after twelve years of having your human contact limited to Ministry workers ogling you like a caged animal can make you a little out of touch with personal space and the like. The understanding of social cues will come back to me eventually, I’m sure. I really am forever in your debt. I just wish I had a better way of thanking you.” 

Is your face red? It feels red. You hope it isn’t obvious looking if it is. “It’s fine…” You trail off, looking anywhere but at his eyes that are watching you closely. “I don’t mind… Hugging.”

“I thought you said I was smelly?” His tone is teasing, and when you finally look at him you notice that he’s smirking. It’s good that the news about Harry has him back to his usual self, and it’d be a much more pleasant sight if he wasn’t taking this as an opportunity to use your own words to poke fun at you.

“You get used to it,” You mumble. He’s still standing so close, so you step to the side away from the hole in the floor and pull yourself together. Why do you still feel so flustered? The movement makes him aware that you’re both still standing right above the shack’s secret entrance, having not yet moved from the spot. He takes this as the opportunity to gesture to the stairs, silently asking for you to both retreat back to what is seemingly the only habitable room in the building. “You hugging me is the least awkward encounter I’ve had all night.” You say as you follow him up the stairs.“First I have to make up an excuse on the spot to Harry for lurking around the infirmary like a creep, then I run into Lupin as I’m about to casually climb my way out of the castle via a window? Hell, I’ll take another hug just for my troubles.”If that’s your subconscious’ way of subliminally telling Sirius you wouldn’t mind if he hugs you again, you don’t approve of its lack of tact.

“You spoke to him?” He asks as you both enter the room, him taking a seat on the edge of the bed as you sit cross legged tucked against the back of the chaise lounge. “ _And_ you ran into Remus? You’ve had quite the night.”

“I’ve gotten through it by the skin of my teeth so far. But I only spoke to Harry briefly; he woke up just as I was about to go, and I had to think of a reason for being there in the first place to tell him. He seemed to appreciate the surprise visit nonetheless. He’s a nice kid.”

His face grows sullen as you speak of Harry. “I wish I could simply go see him myself. No offense to you, but I don’t feel good about having to get someone else to check on the wellbeing of my godson.”

“It won’t be long now, right?” With the combined efforts of you, him, and even Crookshanks the cat, surely one of you will end up catching Peter Pettigrew. “Then you two can be a family.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be?” He says softly, his voice dying down into a whisper.

“Sirius, I don’t mean to be rude or anything but… That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard you say.” You say flatly. “I have no doubt that Harry would love to have you in his life once he knows who you are. All those stories you have about his parents growing up- don’t you think he’d want to hear them from the very same man who was entrusted to care for him from the very beginning? Don’t cut yourself short, you’re not _terrible_ company.”

“Not terrible?” He lets out a bark of laughter at the remark, his mood lifting thanks to your words of support. “Well, I suppose the same could be said about you. I think I’ll keep you around.” He says jokingly.

You snort. “Please, we both know you’re lucky I’m around in the first place. Who else would mesh so well with your somewhat unhinged personality? I know I’m great company. Plus, I’m hilarious; that’s probably the whole reason why I didn’t get in trouble with Lupin. “

“Lupin finds you funny? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I’m positive the whole reason why I’m here and not back in the dorms is because he found my failing attempts at explaining why I was roaming the halls in the middle of the night funny enough to let me go with just a warning.”

“[Y/N]…” He starts. You put a finger up to stop him from continuing.

“It’s fine! I told him I was going to the kitchens.”

“The kitchens are on the opposite side of the castle.”

“I know that, and so does he; I said I got lost.”

“You’ve been at Hogwarts for 7 years! How would you get lost after all that time?”

“Do you two have some sort of telepathic connection I don’t know about? He said the same thing.”

“That’s because he’s not daft, [Y/N]. What excuse did you use then?”

“I more or less said I had a senile moment and that’s why I forgot.” You deadpan.

“And he just let you go?”

You nod.

“Why would he let you off the hook like that? Moony isn’t clueless enough to fall for that, and If he’s teaching now, surely he’s learned how to discipline students properly. ”

“Maybe he let me off because he thought I was sneaking out to go to visit my lover, who is leaving me behind after school ends, and he wants to give us more time together. I don’t think they train teachers for those kinds of confrontations.” You say dreamily, holding a hand to your heart. “He must be a true romantic.”

Sirius snorts. “I doubt it.”

“Do you doubt your friend’s romanticism? Or the believability of me having a secret lover?”

“Yes.” He says to both with a straight face.

“Ha-ha, very funny. You never know, Lupin could be hiding romance novels in his office. And how would you know if I’m dating someone or not?”

“Are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good.” He says simply, and as the word leaves his lips his eyes move down to his hands resting in his lap, finding them more interesting to look at than meeting your eyes.

“Good? What’s that supposed to mean?” You narrow your eyes at him.

He opens his mouth to say something, closes it, and then opens it again as if he thought of something better to say. “I simply think it’s a good thing for the time being. I mean, if you were to have a significant other there would possibly be some concern if they took notice to your sudden absences. They might ask questions.”

“All of those things could easily be applied to my friends. You just don’t want me going off and finding someone better to spend my time with!”

“You know what, never mind; I take it back. Please, find someone to date. I don’t want to have to deal with your narcissism all on my own.”

“Pot, meet Kettle.” You gesture to yourself. “Need I remind you that I’ve seen your yearbook photo? Your ego was practically oozing out of the picture, so I doubt you were any better. At least then you had the looks to back it up with.”

“They’re still there!” He says indignantly. He leans back, crossing his arms with a sour look that you see right through. “Merlin, the cat is much easier to be around.”

You ignore him, narrowing your eyes and rubbing your chin thoughtfully as you stand from the lounge, moving to sit beside him and observing his face carefully. He tries not to budge under your scrutinizing stare, and you don’t fail to notice the way the color from earlier returns to his cheeks as he watches you out of the corner of his eyes. “No, wait. I see him- right there! Under the grime, is that him? Handsome Sirius- is that you?” You poke at his cheek, and he does his best to not break his stoic façade.

“Are you done now?” He fails to hide his amusement in his tone.

“Maybe.” You let yourself fall back into the bed, a cloud of dust appearing as your back hits the blankets. You cross your arms behind your head and watch him lazily.

It’s amazing how easy it is to speak to him when given the chance to do so properly, face to face and when he’s not stuck in his animagus form. You’ve told him about Harry, and there isn’t any other reason to stay longer than needed, but with the knowledge that you’re only limited to the short amount of time you can scrounge up at night, and maybe during future Hogsmeade trips if you can slip away from your friends, you’re finding it hard to leave; being around him is too enjoyable to cut your time together short. 

“You know,” You start. “Maybe it wasn’t because I’m funny that Lupin left me off the hook, maybe he just took pity on me because of how horrendous my lessons with him are going.”

Sirius twists himself around, leaning against the post of the bed to look at you. With disappointment practically radiating off of you after each Defense lesson that passes you by, it’s doesn’t take him long to understand what you’re talking about. “Still haven’t conjured a Patronus?”

“Nope. People are starting to produce corporeal ones now, and I have yet to produce anything. I am officially the odd one out and I don’t like it.”

“I wish I could give you advice, but I might not be the best person to when it comes to such a spell. While I may have known how to conjure a Patronus at one point in time, I’m not so sure if I’m still able to; there aren’t many happy thoughts left in me that the dementors haven’t already gotten to. If I had my wand with me now I’d probably be in the same boat as you.”

“You’ll have new ones soon, I’m certain of it.” You say, trying to reassure him of a better future to be had with his godson.

“You’re so certain of that, aren’t you? More than I am sometimes.”

“That’s what friends are for. They’re there to lift you up when you can’t do it on your own.” You turn to look at him. He’s staring down at his hands again, his brows furrowed.

“I’m your friend?” He asks, and you don’t like how surprised he sounds.

“Unless you don’t want to be?” You try not to sound upset at the possibility.

He shakes his head quickly, still looking fairly bewildered. “No, no. I’d like that very much. It’s just that I haven’t had someone call me their friend in a long time. Not after that night turned my world on its head and left me surrounded by people who thought they could no longer trust me. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you thought the same of me. But you really don’t, do you?” It sounds like he’s directing the question more so to himself than to you and he continues before you can answer. “If we’re friends, then allow me to share with you the certainty that you’ve given me. You are a brilliant witch, [Y/N]. You have shown compassion and wisdom beyond your years, something that takes others their whole lives to come upon, and it’s something I fear I haven’t quite learned yet either. Don’t lose yourself to the worry of not matching up to your peers. It will come to you eventually; there’s no rush, and I’d say your perseverance despite how things are going makes up for anything you _think_ you lack.” 

You stare at him, slack-jawed and not sure how to reply. “That’s certainly some certainty, Sirius.” You say, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Thank you.”

He pats your leg as a show of support, and you try to not focus on it when he leaves his hand to rest there against the fabric of your pant leg. If he's aware of the action, he doesn't show it, so you do the same; not quite wanting him to move his hand anyway. It’s a comforting feeling is all, right? No need to think too much about it.

“Now, seeing as I told you once before all about what your Potions Master and Defense Professor were like in their youth, it’s only fair that you tell me what Remus is like these days…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, writing the most tame interactions possible that could just barely be seen as something more than a Platonic Act: *sweating* WHOA REEL IT IN THIS IS GETTING TOO CRAZY YOU FREAK...


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your visit to Harry helps kickstart your plan to catch Peter, and a trip to see Sirius leaves you with some conflicting emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fool just can't stop herself from updating before she intends to, unbelievable. 
> 
> I was going to post this on New Year's Eve, really, I was! But this has been finished for three days now and I don't know how I'm supposed to keep this mess to myself.
> 
> I told you guys we're close to Christmas in the story, and now we're basically there and I'm still bitter that I was this - close to getting to post a holiday themed chapter ON Christmas. Ugh. 
> 
> Also, I got Sirius' wand as a present- and yes, I did cry. It's beautiful. I want to be buried with it.

As November ends and December begins, sneaking out at night and during Hogsmeade trips becomes as much of a part of your routine as sitting outside during lunch has, the latter of which having been put on hold due to the weather becoming unbearably cold, even for Sirius when in his fluffy animagus form.

You don’t remember when, but at some point you’re not just sneaking out to discuss how to catch Peter, or to tell Sirius about how his godson is doing; but just to talk to him about anything and everything. You enjoy Sirius’ company as much as he does yours, and it helps keep him sane to have someone stopping in and taking his mind off of things with just their presence. You click so well together, and he welcomes the conversations you two share with open arms; happy to have another living soul by his side that isn’t a cat.

You can’t imagine how depressing it is for him being stuck hiding out in the Shrieking Shack with nothing to keep him from resigning back into his head where, if you’re being honest, probably isn’t the healthiest place for him to be at the moment. If you can help quell what must be maddening loneliness with your company, you’re more than happy to, even finding yourself missing his company when you can’t find the chance to visit.

But still, as much as you enjoy the time spent with Sirius, you can’t lose focus of the point of it all. There’s a killer in your midst, one that has spent far too long hiding from the crimes he’s committed against people he once saw as friends, and catching him is Sirius’ only chance at freedom. Knowing how much it must be hurting Sirius inside to be so close to freedom yet so unable to do anything pains you, more than you ever expected it to, but it makes you want to work harder to help him. That goal now seems more important- more meaningful. It’d be nice to be able to see the man who you consider a friend in ways that aren’t limited to what one would consider clandestine meetings; ones that if discovered could result in an Azkaban cell with both your names on it if Peter isn’t brought to justice beforehand.

It makes you wonder where the two of you would stand when all is said and done, and Peter is brought to justice and Sirius is no longer marked as a danger to muggle and wizard kind. The friendship between you and Sirius is one that has deepened considerably faster than any other relationship that have made in your time at Hogwarts, and you find comfort in the bond that’s formed between the two of you; but would that still be the case when you no longer serve a purpose to him? Would he still want you in his life when your help isn’t needed anymore? You try to push those worries aside whenever they rear back into your focus; fearing the real reason why such thoughts would upset you so much lies somewhere beyond wanting to keep him as a friend.

***

“So, are you absolutely certain that a rat is the right pet for you? They’re a lot of work, and Fred and George said they were surprised at your interest in getting one.”

How one boy with no awareness of proper pet care can be so protective is beyond you. You hold your tongue when the desire to point out how this is the first time in weeks he’s been able to keep track of _Scabbers’_ whereabouts long enough to even interact with him rises inside of you. You’re trying to get him to believe you have a genuine interest, not offend him. “Yes, Ron. As I said the first seventy-two times, I am absolutely, without a doubt ready to become a rat owner and know it’s the right choice for me.” Good for you for saying that with a straight face. That’s progress.

With all your classes done for the week, you sit on the floor across from Ron in the Gryffindor common room, trying not to let your disgust show as Scabbers, who you know to be a grown man hiding in the form of a rat, leisurely grooms himself on the coffee table’s surface in front of you, feeling bold enough to do so without Crookshanks lurking nearby.

You’re never doing homework at this table again. Eugh.

As it turns out, visiting Harry did more than just give Sirius peace of mind that his godson was okay. it wasn’t just a mere twist of fate that the following week after Harry was let go from the hospital wing, Ron had finally gotten back to you about using Scabbers as practice for learning how to care for a rat. Apparently Harry had told him about you dropping in to check on his well being, and that was enough proof for Ron to see that his rat would be in good hands if he were to lend him to you. Whenever that will be, because unfortunately for you _and_ Sirius, Ron has taken on the role of a helicopter mom, and has been limiting your time with Scabbers to brief encounters during breakfast and in the evening, and that’s only when he’s able to successfully keep him in his sights long enough before Crookshanks catches his scent and attempts to go in for the kill.

“I’ve never seen you this caught up over Scabbers, Ronald. Maybe now you can leave poor Crookshanks alone since someone else will be monitoring that _thing_ for you.” Hermione says from her seat on the couch behind you. Harry, who’s sitting beside her and too busy fidgeting with a whistling Sneakoscope to be fully involved in the conversation, nods halfheartedly in agreement.

“He’s not a thing!” Ron retorts angrily, plucking Scabbers off the table and holding him to his chest.

You grimace. Poor Ron, she has a point.

“Ron,” Harry interrupts him before he can start bickering with Hermione again. “I think this thing is broken. It keeps whistling, and I doubt there’s anything in the common room that’s out to get me.”

Your eyes drop onto the rat Ron held against him. If looks could kill, Sirius would be a free man right now thanks to you.

“It’s not broken! Bill thought the same thing at first too, but boy, was he dead wrong. Maybe it’s just on the fritz.” Ron huffs in defense of the small object, but proceeds to eye you suspiciously after giving some thought to the Sneakoscope’s sudden activity. “You’re not trying to do something to Harry, are you?”

“Why would I do that?” You sputter. “I’m here to gain rat expertise from the person I thought to be the best to give such advice; not harass Gryffindor’s key to winning the Quidditch Cup.”

Ron seems chuffed at your compliment to his rat care, if you can even call it that, and Harry grins bashfully at your words, but a frustrated expression overtakes it, and he sighs as he shoves the Sneakoscope in his hands back in the large sock he had been keeping it in previously; muffling the noises coming from the object. “Not anymore; without my Nimbus, we’re as good as finished if we get another chance to compete in the Cup. If I don’t get a new broom soon, Wood will have my head.” 

“The next match is Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, isn’t it? That’s all the way in January. Don’t let Oliver make getting a broom the only thing you can think about until then. He’s probably overthinking it enough for the two of you right now, so you don’t need to worry so much.” You try to reassure him. You can only do your best, but you try to imagine the words of encouragement Sirius would give him if he could.

Harry doesn’t look fully convinced, but accepts your words anyway, reluctantly willing to take it as enough of a reason to not focus so much on the loss of his broom, taking some comfort from the fact that someone who’s had more years of experience dealing with Wood is telling him to not worry.

After a few more minutes of pretending to be fully invested in what you can only assume to be the terribly misinformed teaching of rat care that Ron has been explaining to you, when you try to stifle what would be your tenth yawn of the night, you know it’s time for you to head back to the dorms for the night.

You’ve chosen to take the time to sleep tonight instead of visit Sirius, since tomorrow you’ll be going to Hogsmeade and will have the chance to see him during an acceptable hour of the day. As much as you enjoy it, sneaking out so often at night is taking a toll on you. Something is going to have to change soon, or else Sirius is going to have to drag your passed out body back to the Gryffindor Tower, and that doesn’t sound like something that will help in your efforts of clearing his image.

As you make your way over to the dorms, you’re stopped before you can reach the staircase; stumbling back when Fred and George appear in front of you, blocking you from leaving and both doing their best to hold straight faces.

“What is this? Why am I being ambushed?” You ask, crossing your arms.

Fred clamps his hands onto your shoulders. “Because, [Y/N], we need your prudent opinion on a _marauding_ matter.” He says in a low whisper. You quirk an eyebrow at the mention of marauding, and can only assume they’re talking about the map. He spins you around, hands still on your shoulders as he leads you away toward a quiet corner of the still busy common room, George trailing behind him.

When you reach the corner, George is the first to speak. “We feel it’s time-“

“To leave me alone?”

“-to pass the torch along.” George feigns a look of offense at your interruption. “Wow, [Y/N]. Words hurt, you know.”

“To pass the torch along?” You repeat. “You mean give up the Marauder’s Map? Who are you two? What have you done with the twins?”

Fred hums a noise of disappointment, shaking his head. “Now, now. We know it’s sad, but the time has come to give it to someone who we feel deserves it more than us. Plus, we’ve already memorized all the most important passageways and exits, and there really is no reason for us to be sitting on such a landmine anymore- we might as well give it to someone else so we won’t be the ones to get in trouble if a teacher finds it.”

“You’re both saints, really.” You say baldly. “So, who is the lucky scapegoat?”

“Harry.” They say at the same time. Now that’s an interesting development.

Fred is the next to speak, expanding on their decision further. “His aunt and uncle? Terrible people. You should hear the things Ron has told us about how they treat him. He didn’t get either of them to sign his permission slip to go to Hogsmeade, so he’s been spending his weekends sulking around the castle and missing out on all the joy that such a wondrous place has to offer. We figured he could use it to go have some fun. Poor bloke needs it after nearly getting offed by dementors at our last game. Plus, we can say it’s a Christmas present, and then we won’t have to think of something to buy him.”

You can’t help but snort. They really have thought this through. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you? But why are you telling me this?”

George gives you a cheeky grin. “Because you’re the only other living soul in this castle who knows of the Marauder’s Map and its powers.” Professor Lupin and the man disguised as a rat making himself at home just a few feet away might disagree with that statement. “So we wanted to hear your opinion, which we may or may not consider in our decision making process- which may or may not be done already.”

You roll your eyes, but smile anyway. Sirius will be over the moon to hear that the map is going to be in Harry’s possession. “I think it’s a valiant thing you’d be doing for Harry. And who am I to say no? Crashing from a Honeydukes inflicted sugar high and wasting all your money at Zonko’s is a rite of passage as a 3rd year. Surely we can’t let him miss out on that.”

“There’s our favorite and generous upperclassman we love so much. You’re absolutely right [Y/N]. And if you do need to use the map, we’re sure Harry will be willing you let you borrow it, seeing as you’re getting pretty chummy with the trio of 3rd years that are so prone to getting into trouble. Rats, who would’ve thought they’d have the power of bringing people together.” Fred says.

“They sure do.” You mumble, and as you part with the twins, you’re left thinking about just how true that statement is.

***

The next morning, when you wake up bright and early to the idyllic scene of Hogwarts’ landscape hidden underneath a thick layer of snow, with all the green grass and rocky terrain covered in white; your initial reaction isn’t excitement at the first snow of the year, and the sign of winter now being in full swing, but worry at the fact that Sirius is currently finding himself alone in a shabby rundown shack with a fireplace he can’t light without drawing attention to the place being inhabited, or a wand with the ability to cast a charm to keep himself warm from the harsh weather outside.

With great speed, you get ready for the day, layering yourself up in warm clothes and packing away supplies to help Sirius get through the harsh weather, starting with a blanket that was shoved in the bottom of your trunk, one you had been saving for cold days like this one, and including a trip into the Great Hall to gather some extra food for him. You’d like to get him some items from Hogsmeade, too; so you leave as much extra space as you can in your bag and make a mental note to learn how to cast an undetectable extension charm on it at some point, lest someone take notice of the fact that it looks like you’ve packed your bag with enough items to venture off into the forest and not come back.

You sit in a nearly cramped carriage on the way to Hogsmeade, surrounded by your fellow 7th year friends as they happily discuss the presents they plan to buy for the upcoming holidays. You promise to meet up with them later in the day, fooling them with an easy lie that even you can manage of having to buy presents for the group and not wanting to ruin the surprise by buying them with them around.

In actuality, you’re more than likely to leave such things to the last second, but they don’t need to know that.

You part with them at the entrance of Hogsmeade, and immediately set off to your next destination. The first place on your list is to stop by Madam Puddifoot's, awkwardly making your way around the couples having dates and unabashedly showing some serious PDA within the cramped confines of the small café, to grab a hot cup of coffee for Sirius, figuring that he’d need the warmth of the drink and the caffeine to get through the day. You then move on to Tomes and Scrolls, hoping to find a few entertaining enough books to keep him preoccupied. With one more stop at Gladrags for a simple black cloak (nothing too fancy; there’s not much room in your allowance to budget in keeping a grown man from freezing to death in the harsh Scottish winter) in a size you’d think would fit Sirius, you’re ready to go and visit him.

With your bag filled to the brim, you make your way through the deep snow to go meet Sirius. Further ahead, The Shrieking Shack looms in the distance; its dark, worn wooded frame is a stark contrast to the white of the snow sticking to the ground around it and covering its roof.

Mentally thanking your mom for forcing you to sign up for apparition lessons in your 6th year, when you reach the fence that separates the grounds of the shack and Hogsmeade, you apparate the distance between the two, not wanting to stick out like a sore thumb against the blinding white snow if you were to make the trek there.

When you apparate inside, you find yourself in the center of the room you’ve been in many times before, from late at night into the wee hours of the morning and whole Hogsmeade trips, the dingy room is the one place you and Sirius can spend time together in without fear of someone catching a glimpse of you willingly hanging out with a supposed murderer. It’s a wonder how your grades have managed to stay intact with so much of your time being spent in his company, which if anything is a little more than distracting.

The loud _pop_ that comes from your apparating sends Sirius flying out of the bed, having been lounging on it upon your arrival. A few long strides is all it takes until he’s right in front of you, a joyful smile spreading onto his gaunt face as he takes in the sight of you.

It’s a nice smile, you think to yourself. Even nicer knowing that it’s directed at you, your brain adds on rudely. Did you ask for such an addition? You definitely didn’t.

The crinkling of the corners of his eyes and the faint dimples that appear when he smiles so wide are reminiscent of a version of himself from the past, much like the one you saw in the yearbook. The toll of spending so long locked away is still visible in his features, and when you focus you can really see it; the hollowness in his eyes and the lines formed by stress that one of his age shouldn't have just yet, but such a genuine smile has the ability to overshadow them temporarily. You want to retain the image in front of you, commit to memory all the little details of his face when he smiles without anything holding him back, no thoughts of dementors or of Azkaban, or of the man who ruined his life that’s still lurking the halls of Hogwarts under everyone’s nose. You want to remember these moments, the ones where you’re able to see him as just a man, not a broken one who’s weighed down by all the things that haunt him.

You’re staring, [Y/N]. You’re staring, and he’s already started to talk again. You’re making a fool of yourself and you’ve only just gotten here. You blink, bringing your focus back to the sound of his voice as he speaks.

“Thank goodness you’ve decided to apparate; if you went through the door I would’ve had half a mind to come barreling down the stairs as _Scruffy_ unless I knew it was you. I’ve had to transform three times just to scare away some younger students who were forced to try and enter such a “ _haunted_ ” building on a dare.”

“Traumatizing small children? You’ve had an awfully eventful day so far.” You joke, sticking your tongue out when he fakes a pout.

You make your way to the bed, dropping your bag onto its surface and turning around to hold the cup of coffee out to Sirius, a silent gesture for him to take it. He does so eagerly, grabbing the cup with both hands and immediately opening the lid to take a sip. He pauses right as he brings it to his lips, looking back down at its contents curiously and then looking back at you with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“What, do you think I’ve poisoned it?” You ask, not sure why he’s making such a face.

“No, it’s not that. But, er-“ He doesn’t bother with a verbal explanation, and instead he turns the cup upside down, and as if it were doing it solely for the comedic effect (what with all eyes in the room now focused on it) the now frozen chunk of what was once steaming coffee slides slowly from the cup, falling to the ground between you and Sirius with a _thunk_ and rolling away from the two of you, only stopping when it hits the wall on the other side of the room.

You stare at the chunk of ice as it rolls. Maybe buying it before everything else was a poor decision on your part. “I swear it was hot when I bought it.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both stare at the coffee, and when you look back at each other and lock eyes, Sirius erupts into a fit of laughter, clutching at his stomach and unable to stop laughing at the frozen cylindrical coffee lying on the floor.

You share a similar reaction, giggling at the sight, but you’re a little more focused on the sound of Sirius’ laugh; loud and unrestrained, it’s the most animated one you’ve seen from him. “I hear iced coffee is very popular lately. We can still salvage that if you’re not above eating it off the floor.”

He does his best to reign in his laughter before speaking. “I don’t need the caffeine anymore, your presence alone is more of a pick-me-up than that that coffee.”

It’s a good thing your face is red from the chill of the winds outside, because if he were to catch the blush rising to your cheeks, you’d never live it down. “You really know how to make all the girls swoon, huh? Compare them to a cup of coffee?”

“If it were anyone else, that probably would’ve worked.”

It worked, Merlin, did it work. Why did it work? The lamest of all lines you have heard in your life and the one that comes from Sirius Black’s mouth is the one that works. Maybe the winter air is giving you a fever and making you susceptible to his teasing pickup lines. It’s not like he’s being serious, right?

“ _Sureee_.” You drawl, turning away from him and unclasping your bag to begin rummaging through its contents. The first things you pull from it are the blanket and the cloak, not wanting to see Sirius standing around in the thin, ripped material of his Azkaban uniform when it’s equally as cold inside the shack as it is outside. “Now, please take these before you suffer the same fate as that coffee.”

With your offer, he takes the cloak from you, and you hold the blanket in your hand until he finishes putting it on, handing it to him when he’s done. A satisfied sigh escapes his lips as he pulls them tighter around his frame. There’s a blissful smile on his face as he looks back at you. “Sit, sit. You’ve narrowly saved me from hypothermia, you should sit down.”

You do as he says, plopping down onto the edge of the bed, with him joining you right by your side. You set your bag in your lap, still open as you continue to retrieve items from inside. “I brought you some books too. I don’t know what kind you’re into, but if you aren’t aware of Gilderoy Lockhart’s hilarious downfall last year, you’ll really enjoy this one.” You hand him the copy of _Who Am I?_ And he takes it, opening it and flipping through the pages with a satisfied smirk.

“Never thought I’d see the day his hubris got the better of him.” He remarks casually.

“Don’t tell me you knew him?”

He shakes his head. “Not well, and thank Merlin for that. He was four years below me yet still managed to be insufferable enough to make himself known among all the other years. Never did anything unless it proved him to better than everyone else, that one. Seeing this is like Christmas.” He holds up the book with a smile.

“If supplying you with the bare necessities of surviving the winter and keeping yourself entertained qualify as Christmas presents in your book, I’d say you’re the easiest person I’m going to have to shop for this year.” Memory of last night’s sudden “secret” meeting of the Marauder’s Map pops into your head at the mentioning of presents, and a wry grin makes its way onto your face. “Speaking of presents, you’ll be happy to know your legacy is living on.”

“How so?”

“Fred and George- They’ve decided to give the Marauder’s Map to Harry. They told me last night that they’re considering it their Christmas present to him.”

He visibly brightens at the mention of Harry and the map in one sentence, and if he was in his animagus form, he’d probably be wagging his tail. “James would be on top of the world to know Harry has the map. I’d say it’s back in the hands of what was always meant to be its rightful owner, but I do appreciate all the chaos those twins must’ve caused with it. Merlin, I don’t know how I’m supposed to compete with that for a present.”

“You’re thinking about getting him a gift?”

He nods. “I was hoping to. If I’m going to come back from being believed to be a deranged killer and prove my worth as his godfather, starting with a gift is as good as anything. Even if I can’t sign it properly and he won’t know who it’s from, I’d like to start making up for twelve years of not getting him Christmas presents as soon as I can.”

“It’s a good idea, but what are you going to do, pickpocket unsuspecting shoppers in Hogsmeade to get the money for a gift?”

“Ye of little faith.” He nudges you with his shoulder. “I still have my vault at Gringotts; thankfully they haven’t taken that off of me. I’ll just use my spy on the inside to get the money out.”

“M-Me?”

“The cat.”

“Oh, phew. I was worried for your sanity thinking I could just casually stop by Diagon Alley during a school year.”

“ _That’s_ the thing that makes you worry for my sanity? Now I’m worried for _yours_.” He chuckles in disbelief. “That’s one thing out of the way, but I have no idea what he’d even want. What do you get a thirteen year old boy?”

“How should I know? I don’t think I fit that demographic.” You try to think of what Harry would want, but the handful of interactions you’ve had with him don’t tell you much. All your conversations so far have all related back to Ron and his rat, and Quidditch.

Quidditch, that’s it! Wow, how did you not think of that sooner? “What about Quidditch supplies? Maybe something to make up for his lack of broom after that fall during his last game? He does live with muggles, so outside of the school year it’s probably hard for him to get his hands on those things.”

His head whips around to look at you face to face, his eyes growing wide as if you had just told him the magic words. Without any hesitation, he cups your face with his hands, staring into your eyes deeply as a smile grows wide on his face. The cold of his hands against your reddened face elicits a pleasant feeling, but you’re too in shock at the action to relish in it. “[Y/N], you genius; that’s a perfect idea! I could just kiss you!”

Oh, oh no. Why did he have to say that? You know he meant nothing of it, but now you’re picturing it in your head. And you don’t feel opposed to the idea. That’s definitely not something you’d think of when a _friend_ says something like that.

“I don’t know what I did, but okay?” You say dumbly, not fully back from picturing what it’d be like to kiss him.

He removes his hands, and you can’t help it if you look a little disappointed. You watch as he stands, beginning to pace as he ponders the idea. You’ve grown accustomed to his habit of pacing, knowing that with all his time either spent wandering the Forbidden Forest in the form of a dog or being holed up in the Shrieking Shack, he’s taken to fidgeting in such ways to keep calm. “A broom! I’ll get him a broom! The best one on the market- that’d be a Firebolt, right?”

Crookshanks is going to have to start lifting weights if that’s his gift idea for Harry. “A cat’s not going to be able to go and purchase a broomstick; the goblins at the bank might be used to familiars stopping in to make deposits, but it’s a cat, not an owl. How is he going to carry it to the castle?” You say gently.

He wilts suddenly at your words, mood visibly dampening as he stops in his excitement-induced steps, evidently not realizing that setback before. But you’re not about to ruin his chance at getting his godson the perfect present, or Harry’s chance of finally escaping Wood’s wrath and not having to resort to using one of the school’s practice brooms.

“How about I get it? It’ll be a group effort. You have money, Crookshanks has the ability to go get said money, and I’ll take it and buy the broom for you.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“Duh- You didn’t. I just offered.”

“But what if someone asks questions? You buying a Firebolt and then Harry finding one on Christmas morning doesn’t seem like a simple coincidence. Didn’t you tell me you don’t ride?”

It’s such a mundane detail for him to remember; only once have you briefly mentioned to him how on three separate occasions your first year broom riding lessons had ended with you getting a bloodied nose and at least one sprained body part. Yeah, there will be no brooms for you anytime soon. But that’s an easy fix. “Please, my brother is about as obsessed with Quidditch as half the wizarding population is. I’ve been getting him the same gift of a pair of riding gloves for years and he’s still just as happy to receive them as he is the year before because he wears them out so fast. I’m going to have to stop in Spintwitches eventually. If anyone asks, I’ll just say I’m switching it up this year.”

His lips form a tight line as he considers it, and soon he drops back onto the bed beside you with a slow nod as his way of accepting your plan. He still looks lost in thought; his eyes taking on a faraway look that’s never a good sign when it comes to Sirius. “I can’t even give him a gift properly. I’m forcing you to do what I should be able to do right now.” He mumbles. 

“You keep saying things like that, but you’re dead wrong. You didn’t force me to do anything- if anything I’ve forced you to allow me to help. If you want to keep believing that you’re undeserving of a little assistance every now and then, that’s fine; but I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing regardless. And don’t forget, I’m doing this for Harry too. He needs a new broom more than you need a shower.”

“You do realize how close you’re sitting to me right now, right?”

“Yes. But I’m not above throwing petty insults at you if you keep making me sound like some kind of sycophant and treating yourself like an invalid."

He lets out a quiet laugh. “I just wish I could interact with him as opposed to having you do it for me.”

“Have you ever thought about going to see Harry in the form of a friendly, inconspicuous dog? It’s not much, but if you keep at it sooner or later it won’t be too hard on him if you reveal yourself to be more than just a big lap dog. Sure, there was a point where I thought you were going to live up to what the papers have been saying and murder me, but I ended up believing you; so we know it’s worked before.”

He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, no longer finding himself able to look at you directly. “Ah- I may have tried that already. It didn’t work like I expected.”

You frown. “Explain. That incriminating look on your face isn’t helping you, either.”

“Before school started, I went to visit him where he lives with his aunt and uncle. I didn’t intend for him to see me; I just wanted to see _him_ , to see how much he’s grown. He looks so much like his father, [Y/N]. Anyway, he spotted me and I thought to bark, since he already noticed me- so why not introduce myself? But he fell backwards; terrified!”

“You barked at him? Like a simple, yip-yip, Chihuahua bark? Or an _‘I’m going to steal your soul and eat you alive if you get too close’_ bark that makes you sound like a hellhound?”

“Well…”

Sweetie, no. “Sirius.”

“I didn’t think of it like that in the moment!” He groans, putting his head in his hands and shaking it back and forth. “He’s never going to believe me.”

Why is it that in moments like this, you just can’t seem to stop yourself from doing whatever it takes to help ease his pain? There’s a need to assure him with not only your words, but physical contact as well. You move closer to him to where your sides are touching, and tentatively rest your head against his shoulder, gently pulling a hand away from his face and holding it in your lap. You worry that it might be too much, too intimate of an action between two people that are supposed to just be friends; but he gives your hand a squeeze, resting his own head against yours and welcoming the close proximity between the two of you.

It’s hard to find your voice again, and the feeling of him against you is making it a little hard to form a coherent enough thought that would translate well enough if you’re to speak it aloud. “Yes he will, Sirius. I don’t want to tell you to give it time, because time is what you’ve been giving too much of, but eventually you’ll get to be the godfather he deserves. You’re already on the right track, so don’t lose hope so soon.”

He doesn’t respond, but when you peak up at his face out of the corner of your eyes, you see there’s a wisp of a smile on his face, one that suggests your words have had some sort of positive effect on him. After a moment of silence, with you watching him carefully to gauge what his next actions will be, you watch as his eyes trail down to land on where your hands are clasped tightly together on your lap. He moves his head away from yours, meeting your eyes directly when his voice comes out as soft as a whisper. “Is this okay?” The way he says it makes you think that the question isn’t solely directed at your holding hands, but something more.

You nod, but wonder if maybe it’d be better to think of an excuse to why you thought it wise to suddenly latch onto him like this. “Um,” You’re floundering already? “It’s body… Heat.” This is just painful.

“What was that?” You note humor in his tone. Somebody bounces back fast. He’s already enjoying this, isn’t he?

“I mean- well, It’s so cold. I’m not opposed to the idea of sitting this close together. For the greater good of course; so you don’t freeze to death. A few layers of fabric won’t keep you that warm. ” You mumble, and you resist the urge to hide your face against his neck when you feel his shoulders shake with the soft chuckle that comes from him.

“For the greater good, I see, I see. That’s very wise of you, [Y/N]. Who knew you had it in you.” If he’s not convinced by your excuse, he doesn’t show it. But up until now he’s seen through every failed excuse you’ve conjured up, either ones towards him or those around you; and you realize there’s a possibility that he’s just going along with it to allow you to save face.

Unless, he actually enjoys the contact between the two of you…

“You know me… Full of great ideas.” And the ability to act without thinking beforehand.

He’s silent, but decides to speak again. “You do know you could’ve just charmed the room to retain warmth, right?”

You pull away from him at the question, taking your hand from his and feeling mortified that such a simple act has completely skipped your mind. “Would you like me to?” You ask, going to reach for your wand and hoping that he just forgets this ever happened.

Forgetting isn’t on his agenda, because he grabs the hand that you pulled away, and uses his other to pat at his shoulder, gesturing for you to put your head back down. “Maybe later.”

Oh. _Oh_. 

You push down the doubt that just narrowly turned the situation between the two of you into one you’d look back on in nothing but pure embarrassment. He’s not denying you, or pushing you away, or even ready to let you move from your spot next to him. He wants you by his side, close enough to touch. Something inside of you stirs at the revelation, and your attempts to force it to go away don’t work like you hope.

Carefully, you lean your head back against his shoulder, nestling yourself against his side and finding that it feels much better to do so knowing that he wants you at his side like this. An arm snakes itself around you easily, as if that was his intention all along, tucking you closer against him, and you feel an odd flutter in the pit of your stomach.

It reminds you of the first time you found yourself in this room with him face to face. You had accidentally fallen asleep on him, and woken up to find yourself in a position similar to this one. You were under the assumption he had unknowingly put an arm around you while he slept, but now? Now you’re not so sure. Was he just as aware of his actions then as he is now? And with the question of his awareness sitting in your mind, it makes you feel even more confused, as the feelings that are rising in your chest leave you confused about the man who’s currently holding you securely against him. It’s a feeling that makes you content, but makes you yearn for more. It’s selfish, but you wish you could stay like this for longer. But neither of you have time on your side.

***

Eventually, you come to realize that soon your friends will start to wonder where you are after being away from them for so long, so unfortunately you must part with Sirius for the day. After what feels like a ridiculously long time spent moving away from each other, you finally remove yourself from beside him; stretching as you stand. You make sure to take out the rest of the contents of your bag meant for him, and don’t forget to finally cast the quick warming charm to make the barely habitable room in the shack resistant to the harsh winter winds that are able to enter so easily, so you know the next time you come to visit you won’t find an ice sculpture in place of Sirius.

“Don’t go replacing with me the cat because I’m not here. I think he gets depressed when your attention isn’t solely on him.” You say to Sirius, who’s watching you as you gather your things to leave.

His mouth twitches up into a half smile. “He’ll just have to deal with it.” He pauses momentarily, a conflicted look overtaking his slightly worn features. “[Y/N],” He starts, watching as you tug your bag back onto your shoulder, pulling your wand out from your pocket.

“Yes?” You look back to meet the eyes of a now forlorn Sirius. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I- Nevermind. It’s nothing.” He smiles fully now, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Go see your friends, have fun.”

Would it be conceited to say that he looks upset at your leaving? You’d prefer to stay, but not only did you promise your friends to meet back with them, you know that deep down it’s more than you wanting to spend the rest of your day in his company. It’s more than a simple day.

With one last look to the man who you’ve found yourself enraptured by, you apparate away back to the fence that encloses Hogsmeade before you can change your mind. You walk through the main street, past your fellow students and head back to the main entrance to see if you can find your friends before they start looking for you instead.

You nearly trip over a body crouched on the ground during your walk. The mop of red hair attached to it catches your attention, and you realize that it’s Ron, tying his shoe while his two friends wait for him close by.

“Hey guys,” You greet them, and take notice of Harry standing next to Hermione, whose face goes white as a sheet as she stares at you, her mouth agape. “I see the twins finally gave you the map, then?” You ask Harry, and Hermione bristles at the question. He nods sheepishly.

“You knew?” she nearly screeches, but her voice is low, fearing the possibility of someone taking notice of Harry’s presence.

Ron, who stands back up from focusing on his shoe, looks peeved at your question. “Great! So they told [Y/N] about it, _and_ gave it to you, but never mentioned it to me? Their flesh and blood?” He says to no one in particular. “If it was anyone else, Harry, I’d be telling McGonagall out of pure spite.”

“We should be telling her anyway.” Hermione interjects. “Think of how dangerous that could be in the wrong hands! What if Sirius Black was to get his hands on it?”

For one thing, you wouldn’t be having to go to this much trouble to fake an interest in Ron’s terrible pet care. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, Hermione. It’s in good hands with Harry, right?”

He nods briskly at the question. "Yeah, Yeah! It's in good hands. Did you hear that, Hermione?" He sends her a pleading look, hoping to convince her of his ability to keep the map safe, but she can only respond with a frustrated huff at the disregard for her worry.

Up ahead, a horse-drawn carriage comes into view, carrying Professor McGonagall and… The Minister of Magic? “You might want to skedaddle though, unless you want to have that map taken off of you before you’ve had it for a full day.” You point to the pair making their way through the entrance of the village, and Harry turns back to look at you, opening his mouth to ask the question you already saw coming. “I’m pretty good at keeping secrets that aren’t mine, so long as you don’t get yourself caught, you’re fine with me. Don't forget that I've known about that map for longer than you have.” You assure him with a firm pat on the shoulder, and he looks relieved.

Ron on the other hand, looks even more upset, and as you walk away from the trio, you hear him speak in what he must consider hushed words to his friends. “I reckon she’s just saying that to get in my good graces and have more access to Scabbers! She really is dedicated.” Maybe too much, Ron.

After parting with the three, it doesn’t take you long to find your friends, and when you come to them without any evidence of having spent your time away from them shopping, despite them being under the assumption that you split off from the group for the reason of buying gifts in the first place, you have to lie and tell them you didn't find anything worth buying just yet. You spend the next few hours trailing them around as they shop for presents for the remainder of the trip, you’re glad that their focus is mainly on buying gifts, because they don’t notice your attention has slipped away with something more pressing than shopping on the forefront of your mind.

All day, hints of these feelings that you can’t quite understand have been making themselves known to you. And now, as you find yourself longing once more for Sirius’ company by your side despite being surrounded by the friends you have known for years, they feel as if they’re bubbling over inside of you like a cauldron ready to blow. You thought that maybe if you tried hard enough, you could fool yourself into believing these feelings are nothing more than that of two friends. But you’re around your friends right now, and you’ve definitely never felt anything like this for any of them. Just because you’re not a Ravenclaw, doesn’t mean you’re an idiot.

You’re aware that the truth about things has a tendency to stare you in the face without you fully realizing it, and now is the perfect example of that. There are much more pressing issues at stake than your silly feelings, but you can’t just ignore them now that they’ve forced their way to the surface of your heart, refusing to be shoved back down and tucked back away until you’ve successfully gotten rid of them.

What is it about Sirius that makes you feel this way? The more you think about it, the more reasons you find. Whether it be his attentiveness, his humor, or his drive and passion when it comes to his continued fight for a future he’s had wrongfully taken away from him, there are so many aspects of his personality that you can’t help but admire. You like the way his hand fits in yours, you like the way he smiles at you, how he can always keep up with your jokes and always listens to what you have to say.

You like _him_. You like how it feels to be in his presence. Even with so much on the line, even with your meetings limited to nights and the moments when you can sneak away from your friends, you feel safe, comfortable being by his side. You don’t want to be anywhere else.

There it is, staring you in the face and you’re too stubborn to admit it. Are you really going to keep denying it? You like him, [Y/N]. You really, really like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realizing things....... Overthinking things......... The family business. 
> 
> I think I'm going to force myself to take the full week I have been trying to give myself between each chapter before I post the next one. It's almost done, and I might have a special bonus chapter to follow immediately after it simply because I don't think it's going to fit well with what I have so far, but I still have stuff to work on for it and then I want to get a start on the following chapters after that so that I can have stuff to go off of when I finally get to them. 
> 
> But here's a warning for chapter 8, because I'm far enough into writing it that I'm pretty sure this will still apply when I finally post it: Christmas is in the air, I have to revoke my whole "hint of crushing" tag because this story has a mind of its own and has no patience apparently, and we're all going to lose our minds (if you haven't already.)
> 
> I'll see you all in January with what I hope is not a garbage fire of a chapter! Woo!!


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is in the air, and you can only deny your feelings for so long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was almost a full week since my last update!! That totally counts. 
> 
> If you thought the previous chapters were bad, Just Wait Until You Get A Load Of This.
> 
> I can't even tell if this chapter goes from 0-100 fast or if it's just because I still refuse to split my overly long chapters up and it seems rushed because it's all happening in one update. Who knows! Clearly I don't. It's fine. We're fine. It's kind of terrible, but I swear it's not for lack of trying, lol.

As it turns out, you _can_ in fact deny your crush on Sirius for a while longer, and as Christmas gets closer, you’ve thrown yourself into the season of giving; making a very admirable attempt to pour all of your focus into the purchasing of gifts for your friends and family and not allowing your mind the chance to wander back onto the topic of your liking Sirius. It works for a little while, but like all other distractions it’s only temporary, and at the end of the day when all the gifts are bought and everything is said and done, the feelings are still there, as real as ever and showing no signs of dissipating.

And, Okay- so maybe it’s salt in the wound when you declare in one of your letters to home that you’ll be spending your Christmas at Hogwarts instead of with your family. You’ve never done so before, and with this being your last chance at it they have no reason to object. But with the castle basically barren of all its students, it leaves you with less distractions than a holiday away from Hogwarts would provide you, and instead gives you ample time to go and visit Sirius, who you fear is starting to catch on to your sudden change in behavior around him.

Each brush of hands, hug goodbye that lasts for far longer than that between friends, or look towards you with fondness in his eyes sends you spiraling, and trying to act like it doesn’t affect you usually ends in you making you making a fool of yourself. Perhaps your reasons for staying behind don't lie in sentimentalism, but rather it’s just you subconsciously giving yourself more reasons to confess. You’re here, you have the time, and isn’t it the perfect setting? You’re already failing at keeping it together around him, so why not go ahead and unload your feelings on the poor chap!

You just want to pretend a little longer- pretend that you still only see him as a friend, because if you confess, you might lose him forever. You know you can’t keep avoiding it, and considering your complete inability to put on any sort of façade in front of Sirius, who’s able to see through your lies with the same ease as a person who’s known you forever can, you know it won’t be long until he puts two and two together. You’re not very convincing, and trying to act like nothing has changed in you when it very clearly has isn’t going to work the way you want to. You’re going to have to go to him with the truth eventually.

The only choice you have is to confess, and accepting that is one challenge out of the way, but executing it is an entirely different story. How are you supposed to say something like that out loud? You’d ask your friends for advice; send them a letter and ask for the boost of confidence you so desperately need to do such a thing, but you know they’d ask questions and try to force an answer out of you over who your new mysterious crush is, and you obviously can’t tell them.

Feeling as if planning a way to do it will only cause you more grief, and being left to your own devices to figure out how to proceed with getting your feelings out there, you decide to leave it to chance; because chance, fate or whatever it was that keeps putting you in these situations has never failed you before, and the chance encounter that led you to becoming this close to Sirius in the first place is the perfect example. It’ll come to you eventually, you hope; an opportune moment or an impulsive split second decision to just blurt out the words and get it over with, like ripping off a bandage- but hopefully not as unpleasant.

At least by pouring your focus into Christmas shopping, you’ve gotten it done faster than your usual way of leaving it to the last second allows, and slowly but surely you’ve gathered a rather large pile of gifts for the people in your life. There’s an array of muggle pranking products (sent to you courtesy of your dad, since you can’t very well buy them from Hogsmeade) that have been charmed to amplify their abilities to that of the standards of a magical gag item set aside for Fred and George, stationery for your fellow 7th year friends so they can send letters to each other after graduation, clothing, and sweets are also among the things you’ve gathered.

Despite the fact that the sheer thought of him is causing you so much trouble, you’d like to buy Sirius something as well. After all he’s been through it feels weird to not get him anything for what is his first Christmas in over a decade that isn’t being spent in a prison cell. It’s not an ideal situation- far from it, but the least you can do is get him something to brighten his day. But what? It’s not like you can get him just anything; he _is_ still on the run from aurors and dementors alike after all. You get him food all the time, so that’s out… Maybe some deodorant? No… It has to be something good, and considering he can’t even see Harry open the present he got him, he’ll need a significant distraction.

The answer is right there in front of you, striking you with inspiration and the perfect gift for Sirius. Simple, yet meaningful. Nothing else could quite compare to what you have in mind now, and you know he’ll appreciate the gesture. As quickly as the idea enters your mind, you’re bounding over to one of the tables in the common room and finding a spare piece of parchment to write out a letter to home.

_“Dear Mum,_

_Can I put in a gift request with you if it’s not too late? If my lack of presence this Christmas doesn’t put you in a giving enough mood to comply, then please pass this to dad, maybe he’ll be more willing._

_Do you remember that camera we saw in Diagon Alley during the summer?...”_

***

The weekend just before Christmas, you wake to Crookshanks jumping onto your chest to get your attention; in his mouth is a pouch of coins jingling away, courtesy of Sirius’ vault. He sits on top of you, staring down at you expectantly. When you go to take the pouch from between his teeth, he turns his head away, shunning you.

It’s way too early to be getting the cold shoulder from a _cat_ of all things.

“What? Are you expecting payment?” He turns back at the question, as if to say ‘ _obviously’_. This feels awfully reminiscent of your first few encounters with Sirius in his animagus form, but you can’t tell which of the two is the bad influence on the other.

“I don’t have any food, so will a nice pet on the head work?” You ask hopefully. He narrows his eyes, and soon enough drops the pouch from his mouth, his tail flicking angrily against your face as he jumps down off of you to leave; obviously not seeing it as a sufficient enough payment.

“Rude.” You mumble.

With Crookshanks gone and Sirius’ money in hand, you don’t waste any time getting ready and setting off to Hogsmeade; catching the last carriage available just in time to get to Spintwitches before they close for the holiday.

After you finally get your hands on the Firebolt for Harry- and your brother’s obligatory riding gloves stashed safely in your bag (If only he could see you now; he’d probably faint at the fact that _you_ of all people have touched a real Firebolt with your own flying-inept hands.) And with Hogsmeade free of classmates that might wonder why you of all people are holding what is currently the best broom on the market, you’re able to walk freely to the Shrieking Shack to deliver Harry’s present to Sirius.

The long trek from Hogsmeade to the Shack, which sits far up on a hill a ways away, does nothing to ease your nerves like you wanted it to, and the butterflies in your stomach begin their movements once more. You’re getting tired of having to brace yourself each time you visit Sirius in order to keep yourself collected in his presence, which again, is not working at all. If there’s any reason to confess, aside from the fact that it’s what you’re _supposed_ to do in a situation like this, it’d be to stop the incessant torment of your own body working against you by doing its damnedest to get you to show how you feel.

Godric, you’re in deep.

***

You sit at the end of the bed in the Shrieking Shack, trying not to pay too much attention to Sirius as he fumbles with gift wrap, tape stuck in his tangled hair and a focused look on his face, tongue sticking out in concentration as he attempts to wrap the Firebolt. It’s proving to be a losing battle for you; it’s such an endearing sight, can you really be blamed for wanting to watch?

“[Y/N], you’re relishing in my struggles, aren’t you?” He finally addresses you after catching you trying to subtly glance at him out of the corner of your eye for what would be the tenth time so far.

“Just a little,” You say, moving off of the bed to sit down on the floor next to him, gesturing for him to hand you the tape so you can help. “You know if it’s proving to be that difficult to wrap, I could just use my wand and have it done in less than a second if needed.”

“Yes, I know that; but it’s the principal of it all. As painful as this is, this is the personal touch I’ve missed out on.”

You pick up a bow, sticking it to his forehead. “There, all done. Who needs a broom when they can get gifted such a considerate person such as yourself instead?”

His mouth twitches, and the determined look he’s held the entire time he’s been attempting to wrap Harry’s present is chipping away to reveal his amusement. “Flattery will get you nowhere, [Y/N]”

“I’m here, aren’t I? That’s somewhere.” You point out.

Soon enough there’s a bow on your face to match his. “There, a present just for me.” He says it so casually, eyes staring into yours with a playful smile. His gaze has your stomach in knots, but you can’t look away.

This is a moment, isn’t it? This is definitely a moment. You two are having a moment. So why aren’t you saying anything? Or have you forgotten about your oh-so-brilliant plan to wait until the perfect moment strikes to confess your feelings to him? The words are right there on the tip of your tongue, but your lips form a tight line, refusing to let them go.

You pull the bow off your face and rub the area it once was on, breaking the eye contact shared between you and Sirius and hoping that the redness of your cheeks hasn’t decided now to be the perfect time to show up and make your crush known before you have the chance to do it yourself. The chance which is now so unquestionably available to you yet you’re too scared to take.

He frowns at the action, worried that he’s somehow offended you. “Is there something wrong? You’ve been acting a bit off lately. Usually you have some kind of insult to throw back at me when I tease you like this.”

“No- No you’ve done nothing wrong-“

“Is someone bothering you? If someone’s trying to corner you under mistletoe or anything of the sorts, I’ll have a word with them in whatever form is most likely to scar them for life. I swear to it.” He lowers his voice; his tone lacks the humor it usually holds when in your company, and his face changes into a look that almost makes you worry for these nonexistent people who dare to bother you. It sounds like he’d be out for blood if something of the sort were to ever occur.

You’re quick to deny the assumption, shaking your head before he can get carried away with the unneeded threats. “Nope, no; nothing like that. I’ve just got something else on my mind… Distracting me. And you know it’s kind of hard to take a threat like that seriously when you still have that bow on your forehead.”

He doesn’t bat an eye. “It adds character, gives me depth. I have layers like an onion, or this broom, which I may have put too much wrapping paper on because now I don’t know which end is which.” He says seriously as he gestures to the Firebolt, but with the lightness in his voice he holds just for you clear once again.

You roll your eyes, plucking the bow off his head and planting it on the middle of the broom. “That makes the big reveal much more satisfying.” You turn away from him to roll up your sleeve, glancing down at your watch and pretending to actually take notice of the time as if you actually have somewhere else to be. “Now, would you look at the time? I should head back early with this and drop it off with the gifts being sent in by owls, so no one will notice me walking into the castle with a broom in hand. See you!” You say hurriedly, picking up the broom with one hand and standing to leave.

“[Y/N].” Sirius grabs your arm gently before you can go, a concerned look on his face as he speaks softly. “You know you can tell me if something’s bothering you, right? Anything that might be, I’m here to hear it.”

You bite your lip. “I know.” You can tell him, right here and now and be done with it. Say the words, _‘I like you!’_ and accept whatever would come from that. He’s giving you the opportunity to save this moment you’re about to waste. The trust is there, the feeling that even if he denies your confession, you trust him enough to not hate you for it. You trust him enough that he won’t make you feel like a fool.

Instead of speaking your peace once and for all, you give him a small smile, the only one you can muster; one that you pray he doesn’t see through, and leave with nothing more than a wordless goodbye. How many more chances like this are you going to let fall through your grasp?

***

You can barely sleep the night before Christmas, tossing and turning and unable to fall into the restless sleep you so badly want. It’s been the same thing each night, as if each failed encounter with Sirius and missed opportunity to tell him your feelings for him are haunting you, forcing you awake and not giving you any escape. Unable to try anymore and before your alarm can wake you or the sun can rise and welcome the day, you’re changed and out of bed when you hear the sound of house-elves apparating into the common room to drop off the Christmas gifts delivered to the only four remaining Gryffindors in the castle; tip-toeing down the steps from the dorms as soon as they’ve gone.

You make your way down to the carefully decorated Christmas tree that sits in the corner of the room, freshly delivered gifts placed at its base, and sit down on the floor next to the pile of gifts that have your name scrawled on each one. You open them one by one in the quiet of the empty common room -choosing to set aside the muggle crackers gifted to you by your dad for Sirius, who you think will enjoy them- and eventually Ron and Harry make their way down from the boys dormitory, and Hermione from the girls as morning arrives; each greeting you as they enter the common room. They sit grouped together in the other corner of the room, opening their own gifts and conversing amongst themselves happily.

When you reach your last box, you cross your fingers in hopes that your mother had obliged your request, and when you tear away the wrappers, finding a box labeled “ _INSTANT PICKY-PICKWHICKETT’S PICTURE PRINTING CAMERA_ ” in flashy text, you want to shed a tear in happiness. You’re keen to unveil it from its box, examining it with delight. It’s the exact camera you asked for, one reminiscent of the _Polaroid_ cameras your dad had when he was younger, but it’s no muggle technology. The camera is the newest on the market despite its visage looking like an older muggle version, and it has the obvious advancements of a wizard camera.

A gasp alerts your attention away from the camera, and you glance up to the other side of the room, where Harry, Ron and Hermione sit now surrounded by torn scraps of wrapping paper, all three looking down at the most recently opened present in Harry’s lap- the Firebolt.

Sirius has definitely outdone himself. Ron and Harry look as if they’ve just unveiled the holy grail of all gifts; Hermione on the other hand, is staring at it intently with a scrutinizing gaze.

It’s sheer luck that he would open it at the same time that you finally get your hands on the camera you needed just for this occasion. Not wanting to miss out on the perfect shot, you immediately hold the camera up to your eye; training it on the scene in front of you and snapping a picture with a click. The flash from the camera alerts their attention away from the broom and onto you.

“Blimey, [Y/N], I thought it was Colin Creevy, and he’s gone home for Christmas! What was that for?” Ron says, still looking startled.

This feels vaguely like stalker behavior, but you mean well, so it’s fine. Probably. “Well, it’s my last year, and it’s also my first time spending Christmas in the castle, so I figured now’s a good a time as any to take some pictures to remember it by. Since you guys are here, you’re kind of a part of the experience. You don’t mind, do you? I can make you copies if you’d like.”

“That’s alright.” Says Harry. Hermione nods in agreement, but hasn’t yet looked away from the Firebolt.

“Actually, can you make me a copy? Mum would be mad if she found out I could’ve gotten a photo of us on Christmas morning and passed the offer up.” Ron adds.

With a quick duplication charm, you’re handing off a copy of the photo to the boy, who thanks you silently.

“I’m going to go to the Owlery right away so I can send a letter of thanks to my parents for the presents. I might take a stroll too, so I’ll see you guys later at the feast.” You say, trying to give yourself an alibi for the next few hours of your absence. It’s not like you can tell the group of thirteen year olds that you’re planning on spending your Christmas day with the notorious Sirius Black.

At the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione comes up to you with an unreadable expression as you’re shrugging on your winter jacket.

“Do you want a copy of the picture, too?” You ask.

She shakes her head. “I’m merely curious, you were in the common room before the rest of us- did you happen to see a card attached to the broom that Harry got? I was wondering if it could’ve fallen off and gotten mixed in with your presents.”

Nothing gets past her, does it? Crookshanks must get that from her. “Nope, I didn’t see any card. I’m guessing you’re not content with simply accepting that someone sent Harry a Firebolt?” She nods. “Maybe you should drop it,” Does that sound too harsh? And what kind of diversion is that even supposed to be? Because telling someone to drop it is _totally_ not suspicious at all. You try to clarify before she speaks again. “I mean, it _is_ Christmas; maybe someone decided to spread some joy and splurged a bit. If I had the money, I’d probably be buying everyone brooms just because I could.”

She crosses her arms, looking rather unsure of herself now. “Did you get it for him, then?”

Does acting as Sirius’ personal shopper count? “Definitely not.”

You can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she starts to devise another theory on the source of the gift. “Oh, well. See you at the feast, then.” She nods, letting you go about your business and freeing you from her questioning when she turns on her heel to bound back to Ron and Harry, who both frown when she begins to talk again. You can almost hear her scolding their unconcerned attitudes about the mysterious gift from the portrait hole.

When you exit the common room, you run a hand across your forehead when the portrait shuts behind you. Hermione Granger is far more intimidating than you originally thought.

***

It’s silent aside from the crunch of untouched snow underfoot as you walk to the Whomping Willow; maybe it’s the absence of life on campus that makes it feel far more quiet than it is in the middle of the night, since even then the trip is accompanied by the sounds of the nocturnal creatures of the Forbidden Forest being at their peak activity just nearby. But there are no creatures to hear from on this cold Christmas day, and no students or faculty around to see you near the dangerous tree, aiming your wand at its base and freely casting a stunning spell directly at it.

One thing you can now confirm is that it’s definitely a lot easier to visit Sirius this way at night, because you know no one will get a good look at the branches of the tree being frozen by a spell in the dark. Just before you slide into the tunnel, you cast the reversal spell to your previous one, allowing the tree to move once more now that you’re out of harm’s way.

You continue on your way, and when you reach the end of the tunnel, pushing away the floorboard and climbing into the shack, you call out for Sirius. You hear as the floor above you creaks as soon as you say his name, and watch as Sirius hurries down the steps and into your line of site.

He looks confused to see you, rubbing his eyes to assure that he’s not imagining it. “[Y/N], what are you doing here?” His voice is groggy, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he must’ve been trying to sleep the day away.

“Celebrating Christmas with you, obviously.”

“But your friends…”

“You need to start including yourself when you mention my friends. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course.”

“Then come on, stop blocking the stairs and let’s get a move on. And if it makes you feel better, I’m the only Gryffindor above the age of thirteen who decided to stay, so you’re the only friend I have available right now.”

He places a hand to his heart as you both enter the room, draping himself onto the lounge in comical fashion. “I feel so special.”

You sit beside him on the floor, not minding the thin layer of dust that covers it. “You should; I could be dealing with three preteens who are much more mature than you are.”

“If anything, your taste in company says a lot about you. If I’m immature, then what does that make you if you want to be around me so much?”

A lovesick fool? “An idiot.” You swallow hard. “Who comes bearing glad tidings in the form of crackers.” You open your bag, handing one off to him. “The muggle kind, though; I think my dad figured I’d have an endless supply of wizard ones available to me at school.”

When he sees the crackers, he really fits the whole description of a ‘kid on Christmas morning’. “I never thought I’d miss the sight of these so much. Lily used to get them for us when we were young; entertainment value for hours. I might’ve fought James for the best prizes on more than one occasion.”

“See what I mean about immaturity?”

“Laugh all you want, but I know what to expect from wizarding crackers, these on the other hand…” He trails off, pulling on the end of the cracker and opening it with the trademark anticlimactic pop of the muggle product; his grin remains as he rummages through the packaging. “Ah-ha! Look at that,” He clicks his prize of a miniature flashlight, waving the barely visible light in front of your face. “Muggle ingenuity.”

Seeing him so happy reminds you of the other reason why you’ve come. You fiddle with the picture in your pocket, one that you know will make his day more than a simple Christmas cracker can. “Here.” You take the picture out, handing it over to him. “I can’t wrap it, but this is my present to you.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything-“

“Too bad. It’s about time you start making memories with Harry, so why not start with having a proper picture of him?”

The mood in the room shifts when he realizes what he’s looking at in the photograph. It’s a bittersweet scene to see as he stares down at it intently, watching the looping image of his Harry open his gift and knowing how much he wants to be able to see his godson firsthand with a sad gaze. But when he looks back at you in awe that you managed to capture a moment like that for him in a photograph, you know you made the right gift choice.

“I figured with a gift like a Firebolt, you should be able to see his reaction to it, so…”

“[Y/N] this is… This is more than I could’ve ever asked for. You’ve truly blown me away. How can I ever repay you for this?”

Here’s a concept: who wants to go through the rigmarole of a wordy confession? You’re never going to get anywhere if you keep trying to confess with words that you’re too terrified to speak out loud. And hey, there’s no better time like the present than to possibly destroy your friendship with the man who’s looking at you with such adoration in his eyes. Words, who needs ‘em, right?

“I have an idea.” You say. No, no you definitely do not; this is what happens when you _don’t_ have an idea. This is what you call a _rash decision_.

“Anything, absolutely anything. I doubt whatever you ask will compare to such a gift, but I’ll do my best.”

“You just have to trust me, okay? You have to…” Not hate you forever? “Not freak out.”

He eyes you warily at your words, but still nods. “Okay…”

“You have to close your eyes.” He looks hesitant.

“Are you going to prank me? If you’re going to prank me then I’ll allow it just this once. Just don’t mess with my hair, please.”

“I swear this isn’t a prank. Just shut up for a moment, will you? Merlin, you make it seem like I’m the annoying one.” You chuckle nervously.

To be fair, this definitely isn’t the worst thing your impulses have led you to do. It’s now or never, and it’s too late to turn back and go running for the hills. If your pride is mortally wounded, so be it. At least you tried.

Your hands come up to gently cup Sirius’ face, and a thumb caresses against the scruff of his cheek. You feel him still underneath the contact, and over the sound of your rapidly beating heart you can hear the sharp intake of his breath; but he doesn’t move away, and makes no attempt to stop what you’re certain he knows you’re about to do.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you lean in and press your lips to his cold, chapped ones. It’s nothing more than a chaste kiss, but goosebumps still line your arms at the sheer intimacy. Sirius leans into the feeling of your lips on his, and his hand finds itself splayed out against the middle of your back, pulling you closer to him. He’s bold, taking the delicate flesh of your bottom lip between his teeth and further initiating the kiss.

Why all of your doubt and insecurities feel this is the most opportune time to float up to the surface, you’ll never know. It’s distinctly apparent that he must, in some fraction of a way feel something similar for you, because why would he kiss back? But as the kiss deepens, turning from a chaste kiss to something more, you can’t help but wonder if he thinks this is all you wanted. What if because you decided to not use your words, it isn’t clear what you’re trying to purvey with such an audacious act? All of the sudden this no longer feels like a good idea; it feels like you’ve messed up beyond repair. You want to revel in this moment, allow the sensation of how good it feels to kiss him take over, but you’ve made a mistake, doing this before you’ve made it clear to him _why_ you’re doing it in the first place and possibly misleading him into believing all you want from him is some kind of casual fling to be forgotten about immediately after.

Your eyes snap open at the thought, and you break the kiss when it finally hits you why this might not be the appropriate course of action. A little too late for that.

Sirius is confused by your sudden cold shoulder, his breathing slightly uneven as he looks at you through heavy lidded eyes. Oh, merlin, you did that, didn’t you? You want to do it again, too. You’re screwed.

“Well, Merry Christmas!” You nearly shout, stumbling up from the ground and away from him ungracefully. “That was fun; great times! I don’t have to come back ever again if you don’t want me to! I’m sorry, goodbye!” Your words come out strangled and awkward. You swiftly grab your bag off the floor, leaving a bewildered Sirius in your dust as you leave the room.

This isn’t even a walk of shame; this is a run of mortification and you’re about to win the gold medal. How are you even a Gryffindor if you’re too scared to face him after pulling such a stunt? _You’re_ the one who thought it was a good idea. Talk about sending mixed feelings! That’s the best reaction you could’ve gotten, and now you’re running away like a coward because of your own decision to not make it clear how you feel before you start kissing the guy.

He’s probably already thinking about what a mistake it was to reciprocate, because why would he want to mess up the good friendship you share-

Before you can make your way down the steps, two arms wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against a firm body. Sirius hides his face in the crook of your neck, his hair brushing against you and his arms tightening around your middle.

“Please, don’t go. Not like this.” He says, and you feel like crying at the desperation in his tone. With his close proximity you can feel his breath on your ear and it sends a chill down your spine. A slender hand grips your shoulder and directs you to turn back around to look at him. Facing him head on now is too much. How are you supposed to meet his eyes after such a stunt; one that you promptly _got up and left_ from right when you realized the severity of what you were doing?

The words are pouring out of you before you can think properly of what to say to him, with your eyes tightly shut and your head bowed so he can’t see your face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I just thought maybe if I confessed and got it all out in the open I’d stop thinking about it. But I didn’t even do it right, I just kissed you like a dolt and now I’ve ruined it- I’ve ruined it all because of silly feelings you probably don’t share. There’s so much more at stake right now than my own feelings, and now you’re never going to want to see me again and I still haven’t helped enough. I just wish I could’ve done more before I messed everything up. Everything I’ve done doesn’t feel like enough because you deserve so much more than this.”

“[Y/N].”

“And now I still feel the same way about you but you’re never going to want to see me ever again-“

“[Y/N].”

“-Because I’m so stupid and selfish and-“

“[Y/N]!”

You pause, clamping your mouth shut and swiftly wiping away the stray tears that escaped with your sudden explosion of a jumbled mess of words that you yourself can barely understand and look back up at him. His brows are furrowed, and he’s probably baffled by your outburst, but his mouth is upturned in a small reassuring smile.

“It’s okay.”

“Could you… Elaborate on that, please.” You say weakly.

“My sweet girl,” The words escape his lips so slowly, and sound soothing as they come out as a simple whisper. Your eyes drift down to glance at his lips, watching as he speaks. “You’ve done so much- more than enough. From the first day you met me you were kind to me; even when I was a simple dog to you, you were _kind_. And then to find out the truth all on your own, to come face me not knowing what could come from that, and then believe me? I’ve spent years alone, [Y/N]. Years alone and terrified and believing that beyond the bars of that cell there was no one out there who’d be willing to believe me. Yet you did, you, the person I never expected in a million years to enter my life. You’ve given me hope and far beyond what I deserve. I want you to be happy, [Y/N]. I want you to be happy because even when the darkest moments of my life creep up to taunt me once more, you’re there for me, to give me the same happiness that I want for you to experience. To know that you feel this way about me makes me feel like the happiest man alive, but I can’t be selfish with you. You’re going to find that outside the walls of Hogwarts there are far better people to be with than me; people who can give you more than I ever could.”

“Don’t I have the right to choose who I want? If- if you want me too…” The words sound foreign coming from you; like you’re thinking too highly of yourself. But that’s what you’ve been hoping to hear for weeks, and now that you have, it’s him who’s denying it. “Then why is this a debate?”

Your words have brought him to a standstill, and he’s wracking his brain for any kind of excuse, anything that might justify stopping this before it can go any further, but you can see it, the want in his eyes that’s trying its damnedest to overshadow anything he can come up with. “I’m just going to end up dragging you down.” He whispers.

“And if you did? Isn’t it my decision to make whether I let that happen or not?”

“That’s-“

“The truth. And you know it. But if you want me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Then be selfish, please. You’ve done your time, now just be selfish, okay? I want you to be selfish if it means I get to stay with you. So doesn’t that make me selfish, too?”

You watch as his hesitation falls away; melts off his face like wax on a candle when he accepts that this might just work, that in the end you might both come out of this without stain, because you both want it to, and you both want to be at the other’s side come what may. He gives you a small smile as a hand comes to tip your chin up, drawing you closer to him. “Then let’s be selfish.”

His lips connect with yours, and it’s as if the kiss has picked up from where you ended it so abruptly. It’s hungry and overtakes all of your senses, leaving neither of you wanting to be the first one to end it. You feel lighter when you kiss him back, your worries fading out and being replaced with only the feeling of his lips on yours. A kiss that deepens with every passing second to reveal the emotions you share, the ones that not only you have been feeling this whole time.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he leads you away from the steps, his back hitting against the wall in front of them. One hand moves to rest against the small of your back while the other nestles itself in your hair, pulling you closer against him until your body is pressed against his. Your mouth opens slightly, and it gives him ample opportunity to slip his tongue inside, dragging it across the sensitive skin of the roof of your mouth in a tantalizingly slow movement, causing you to moan.

“Sirius,” You try to say, and it comes out as a whimper. You feel him let out a ragged breath against your mouth when you say his name in such a way, so filled with desire.

He hums in response, words evading him as he takes his lips off of yours and moves to pepper your face with kisses, as to free your mouth long enough for you to speak.

You’d like to do it again, and again and again until one of you finally decides that oxygen is a vital part of survival and you both are going to need it if you want to live long enough to kiss each other again. Did kissing always feel this nice? You can’t remember ever liking it so much, but you’re not complaining.

“This is the best gift I could’ve asked for.” 

With you still having time to spend with him before the Christmas Feast starts, when you finally move away from each other, you both resign back to sitting together on the bed in each other’s arms. There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as your hands find themselves intertwined, and if anyone could see the two of you like this, they’d probably be in shock; you with your head resting against Sirius Black’s chest, who’s staring down at your held hands with a dreamy look, the both of you now wearing the flimsy colorful crowns that you had nearly forgotten about from the cracker packaging.

The blissful smile that has yet to disappear from Sirius’ face is a welcoming sight, one that you swear to yourself to never allow to fade. You want him to have more reasons to smile like that; you want him to have a whole life of them.

Sirius is the first to break the silence. “To think you took the initiative before me…” Sirius says.

You turn back to look at him with wide eyes. “You- you were going to confess? To me?”

“I was going to tell you, or at least, I considered it; the day when you brought up the idea for Harry’s present? But I don’t know… Maybe you’re braver than you realize, because I didn’t have the guts. I thought maybe it was too soon, I thought maybe you would feel pitied into accepting me, or you would leave and never return. I thought a lot of things, all of them wrong, now.” He admits with a sheepish grin, though the bashfulness doesn’t last for long, and you almost groan when it twists into a teasing look. “All things considered, I like your way better than mine. That was awfully romantic, as far as surprise confessions go. Did you plan that? Or were you just acting on your unquenchable desire for me?”

Way to ruin the moment, man. You give him a short look and pretend to be cross with him. “You know what, I changed my mind; you’ve successfully made me regret every word that has come out of my mouth today.” You say without emotion, moving to leave the bed. “I think I’m going to mail Oliver Wood and see if he’ll go on a date with me-“

Sirius pulls you back against him, lips planting themselves against your neck. You can feel him smile against your skin. “Not so fast, [Y/N]. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Trust me, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected one (1) kissing scene to be the thing that lays waste to me, but that's fine. I'm typing this from the afterlife where absolutely no one is allowed to call me a prude. 
> 
> Also, Instant Picky-Pickwhickett's Picture Printing Camera?? I’m going to fight myself for that one before anyone gets the chance to. I bet I thought that was funny when I came up with it at some ungodly hour of the night. 
> 
> The next chapter is a bonus, or an interlude if you prefer. I do like my timeskips, so it’s my gift to you guys before we travel ahead to after Christmas break and the start of the new term. Soon we'll be getting more into the narrative of PoA, and back onto the topic of Peter and all that stuff, so it's a fun scene to tide you over until then. There's no Sirius, but there is some bruising to Snape's ego. Sorry Severus, I still love you even if you're always in the crossfire of my bullying. :(
> 
> Now if you excuse me, I need a cold shower and a nap.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who doesn't love awkward dinners?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just an extra bit that I wanted to post so you all get to enjoy a (sorta) double upload, lmao. 
> 
> Edit: I've decided to call it the 9th chapter because i'm a fool and didn't realize it'll show up as the 9th one anyway and I don't want to mess up the rest of the chapter titles... :')
> 
> Enjoy!

In a daze and with a skip in your step, you return back to the castle after one last fleeting kiss to Sirius, who walks you to the end of the tunnel under the Whomping Willow to see you off; just in time for the Christmas Feast.

“[Y/N], you made it! We were starting to wonder if Sirius Black had kidnapped you; that was an awful long time to take a walk and mail a few pictures.” Ron says as you catch up to them at the entrance to the Great Hall, just as they’re about to enter.

“It’s so cold out too, you shouldn’t have stayed out so long- your face is bright red!” Hermione adds, and you consciously move to press a hand to your cheek; feeling just how warm your face really is. Damn it, you can’t even blame Sirius for this; you’re just as much to blame as he is.

“I had an allergic reaction to one of the birds in the Owlery; rare type of breed, I think. It happens.” You say quickly, pushing along the trio of students into the Great Hall, where a lone table sits in the center of the beautifully decorated room. There’s only three other students seated at the table, while the rest of the table is occupied by the remaining members of staff.

“Merry Christmas!” Dumbledore says happily as you approach the table, the three 3rd years are already seating themselves, and you mentally groan when you’re left having to sit across from Professor Snape with no other seats available. Dumbledore is already diving his hand into the pile of wizarding crackers at the center of the table, while everyone starts to help themselves to the array of food stacked high for the group.

Trelawney enters the Great Hall a few minutes later, declaring that she foresaw herself joining in on the feast instead of celebrating it alone in her tower. As she sits, she looks curiously at the table, a finger going around and silently muttering as she counts heads at the table. “I say, is Professor Lupin not joining us for such a celebration?”

“I’m afraid the poor fellow is ill again,” Says Dumbledore, not batting an eye at Trelawney’s question. But you do, and the mention of Lupin has your interest piqued. “Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day.”

“But surely you already knew that, Sybill?” Says Professor McGonagall; thus beginning her questioning of the accuracy of Trelawney’s predictions. It’s a typical conversation topic when it comes to most of the staff; though they’d never admit it outright, only going so far as alluding to it. But there’s no need to beat around the bush; it’s already common knowledge.

“If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him-” Trelawney bites out with more cheek than you thought her capable of after one too many words of doubt from the other woman.

Dumbledore is quick to interrupt the minor squabble, calmly speaking before they can start once more. “I doubt that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you’ve made the potion for him again?” You don’t realize you’ve leaned forward to hear his response until you narrowly avoid sticking your elbow in the mashed potatoes on your plate.

“Yes, Headmaster.” Says Snape, who sounds annoyed at the mere mention of having anything to do with assisting Lupin.

If you didn’t have a reason to be interested in listening to the conversation between the teachers that sit across the table before, you definitely do now. It’s said so casually between the two that no one else seems to regard their words with much significance, but knowing what you know, something clicks in your brain at the mentioning of Professor Lupin and a mysterious potion in the same sentence, and you’re able to freely read between the lines. You aren’t in N.E.W.T. level classes for nothing, and just because it’s Snape who’s teaching doesn’t mean you haven’t been paying attention in Potions.

You nearly choke at the realization, and your coughing awkwardly dies off when eyes turn their focus onto you.

Thinking back to Sirius’ curiosity at how Dumbledore makes the arrangement with Lupin work, and how not once have you ever heard or seen any signs of werewolves lurking around the campus during full moons, despite Lupin’s glaring affliction. The only answer for this has to be the Wolfsbane potion. You aren’t even looking for an answer to how they made it work, but it’s almost as obvious as it would be if the two members of staff had just said it allowed. To think, you thought _you_ were bad at being subtle. This really takes the cake.

No wonder the Headmaster felt safe enough to add Lupin to the staff in the first place; Professor Snape is one of the only people capable of creating such a powerful potion, one powerful enough to subdue a werewolf and keep their transformation contained. And with Dumbledore’s resources, there must be an abundant supply to last Lupin through school year.

You wonder if Sirius has already figured it out, since he’s had far more experience with werewolves than you, and surely the potion must’ve come up once during a conversation with Lupin when they were younger, but you make a mental note to tell him anyway.

“It seems your coughing has returned.” Snape says with a sneer from across the table, narrowing his eyes at you. Hell, no. He’s not about to hassle you in the middle of Christmas dinner of all things.

“I wasn’t aware someone was keeping track of when I cough. Maybe I have asthma.”

“Maybe it’s from the allergic reaction you were having?” Hermione interjects, sounding concerned.

“An allergic reaction? Are you alright?” McGonagall asks suddenly, obviously worried for one of the members of her house.

Oh, Merlin, this is awkward. Curse you, Severus Snape. Can’t he wait until classes start to torment you again? “I went to mail a letter in the Owlery, had an allergic reaction.” You explain quickly to your head of house, and turn to look at Hermione. “Yeah, you know what, you’re probably right. The coughing is probably because of that.”

“Healing is your future area of expertise, isn’t it? Shouldn’t you know for sure?” Adds Snape; still staring you down. So testy, aren’t we? You wonder why he’s joined in on such a social event if he’s having this hard of a time to refraining from verbally abusing his students to get through it. Dumbledore forced him, probably.

“Are you training to become a healer in your free time, professor?” You pretend to sound interested. “To think, you seem keen on pointing out my coughing in the first place; if that’s the case then surely you can tell me my diagnosis?” Sirius is going to have a field day when you tell him about this. You wish you could take your camera out to take a picture of Snape’s reaction to retain this moment forever. He looks appalled at your speaking out of term, his expression sour and red with ire as he opens his mouth to respond with some sort of anger-induced jeer under the guise of discipline; maybe even take a few dozen points from Gryffindor just to remind you that he can. But Dumbledore starts talking again before Snape can obliterate you on the spot; this time while holding out a large platter to a small first year sitting opposite him at the end of the table.

“… Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They’re excellent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I take so much joy in torturing the characters I love...
> 
> I'll see you all next time :')


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School's back in session, and in Defense Against the Dark Arts achievements are made and suspicions arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Casually goes back and edits the ~bonus~ chapter's title and makes it chapter 9 and changes the title of this to chapter 10 because I can't stand the change in chapter numbers* This is Fine. It's Fine. 
> 
> Anyway, I used the word Patronus 30 times in this chapter, and I HATED EACH TIME....

Christmas break flies by in a flash, and when January rolls around and school starts up again, you’re quickly swept back up into the world of academics. You didn’t want the break to end; even with the slight hiccup of Harry’s new broom being confiscated. You wish you had told Hermione it was you who bought it when she asked; A half-truth wouldn’t have been as terrible as it was to find the Firebolt was taken off of him due to the fear that Sirius Black sent his own godson a tampered with broom in order to kill him. That wasn’t fun to tell Sirius, who you had to hold back from barging his way into Professor McGonagall’s office just to give her a peace of his mind. But classes are inescapable, and Godric, you’d really like to escape right now.

It’s a sore sight to see all the desks pushed aside when you walk into the DADA classroom, knowing that it can only mean practicing spells, and not just any spell in particular either, but the Patronus Charm. There are so many blows to one’s pride a person can take, and consistently failing to execute the spell has left yours mortally wounded. Luckily, the fuss over your feelings for Sirius left you free from worrying about it over the duration of break and in a far better mood than you would have been in if you had to deal with the looming dread of having to fail at the Charm in front of your (mostly) successful classmates again. But now that classes are back, there’s no avoiding it. And you thought _confessing_ was bad.

You clench your wand tightly in your hand, tapping it lightly against your leg as a way of calming your nerves as you watch as Lupin walks between the two rows of students standing in the center of the Defense classroom and looks at each person with a comforting smile. It’d be nice to take it as such, but you’re far too stressed to be able to.

“Remember, this is our last lesson on the subject, so do the best that you can before we start moving onto Inferi. And remember, you’re being graded on effort here.” You try not to shrink at the words you feel Lupin is directing mostly at you, since some of your Slytherin counterparts who have been equally as unsuccessful as you when it comes to performing the charm aren’t at all bothered; since after all, whether or not you can conjure a Patronus won’t make any difference to your grade, and that’s all they care about. You really wish some of that mindset would rub off on you, because now you feel you have something to prove, and that’s never a good thing when it comes to you.

You should just accept that you can’t cast it, and probably won’t be able to any time in the near future. It’s not uncommon, and you’re still young; you have more than enough time to gain the experiences you might need to cast it. As true as that is, the overthinking aspect of your personality will win over the realistic part every time, and you simply can’t accept failure in your very last lesson on the spell that’s left you feeling so defeated.

But this _is_ your last chance to prove yourself, right? And when you think about it, you have accumulated some new happy memories over Christmas break. So happy in fact, that the ones surrounding your newfound relationship with Sirius have yet to not redden the tips of your ears at the sheer thought of them. So why not try them? You’re desperate, and those are a lot better than your idea of making fake happy memories as a last resort and hoping the spell would somehow work from that.

On Lupin’s command to commence practicing the spell, you close your eyes and try to focus on your chosen memories.

It isn’t that memories you have of your shared time with Sirius are happier than any of your other ones, but they do seem to stand out among the rest. They aren’t just happy, really. The feelings you associate with them are different, more complex. There’s not just being happy; there’s worry mixed in too; interest, passion. There are so many feelings muddled together within the memories of him that you don’t know if it’s possible to have one without the other, but you wouldn’t dare give any of them up if it meant losing one. 

There’s… a connection, filled with respect and caring and fondness of one another. It’s not yet the word you’ve had floating in the back of your mind when you think of a way to describe how you feel about Sirius, but something pretty close to it. It’s new, and it’s different, and it’s something you don’t want to let go of.

The image of the two of you together flashes through your mind, and the lingering feeling of his kiss still feels so vivid on your lips. The feeling of his arms keeping you pressed securely against him. The words of assurance shared between the two of you as you work towards getting him his freedom. The praise he’s instilled in you over your abilities as a witch, and how hard you’ve been working. Jokes and teasing and laughter shared through the night where no one is the wiser of your late night visits to the man they thought so badly of. He’s made your year memorable; broken the routine you’ve become so comfortable with and left you happier for it despite the circumstances of why and how. It’s like you can feel it all happening again in real time, all at once. The collage of memories combining feels like pure magic, powering you from the inside and escaping out of the tip of your wand with your whisper of the Patronus Charm.

You hear a soft gasp from Professor Lupin, and when you open your eyes, there’s a burst of bluish-white coming from your wand, and within the wisps of magic a smoky figure comes into view, you see it- your Patronus, a corporeal one no less, now stands before you, and the form it’s taken on is all too familiar to you. It’s as if it’s a mirror image of Sirius, or more accurately, _Scruffy_ from the first moment you saw him that day during a lunch you thought would be the same as any other. Your Patronus is his animagus.

“Very- Very good [Y/N].” Lupin says, looking fairly bewildered as he does.

A smile graces your lips as you watch your Patronus as it begins to move around the room among the other ones that your classmates have already cast. You don’t take notice to theirs; you’ve seen them all before, and you’re much too distracted by the beauty of your own.

When you finally look back at Lupin, that twinkle he holds in his eyes when he looks upon his students is no longer there as he stares after your Patronus with furrowed brows. The look in his eyes is replaced by something else, something you should’ve expected when you first saw your Patronus appear- recognition.

He not just looking at your Patronus, he’s looking at Sirius Black’s animagus, a man who you’re supposed to have never met; a man whose ability to transform into the dog that your Patronus looks like is a secret only a handful of people have ever known. He’s looking at a piece of his own past that he lost years ago.

It’s a sinking feeling that weighs heavy in the pit of your stomach as you try to discretely gauge the reactions of your professor for the remainder of the period, and as class moves on, you try to contain your worry, pushing it down under the excitement and letting yourself get caught up in the feeling of euphoria of being able to perform the charm you’ve been having so much trouble with for the better part of the school year. You can’t have the good without the bad, right? And he couldn’t possibly have figured anything substantial out all because of the form your Patronus has taken. It’d take a lengthy stretch of the imagination to connect the two of you just based on that.

At the end of the class, when you go to take your leave like the rest of your classmates, you’re stopped by Lupin’s voice when you reach the doorway. Damn, so close to making a quick and painless exit. “[Y/N], may I speak to you for a moment?”

This can’t be good. “Sure,” You say, stopping amidst the students exiting the class and walking back to Lupin’s desk.

When you reach him, you hold an innocent look on your face and feign confusion. You’re only partially pretending, since you still don't know for sure what he's going to ask. But what you do know for sure that whatever it is it's going to leave you backed into a corner. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He sounds pained. “I have to say, I wasn’t expecting you to produce a Patronus, let alone a corporeal one.” When you frown, he’s quick to backtrack. “Not because I doubt your abilities- you’ve done so well in class that it’d be impossible to, but only because you yourself mentioned running out of memories to use. And as you know, intense emotions, happy ones in particular, are imperative to performing the charm. So imagine my surprise when you’re suddenly able to cast it.”

You can see the gears turning in his head. What should you say? What _can_ you say? There aren’t many options here that won’t lead him into being more suspicious than he already seems to be. He’s leaving his end of the conversation open and vague; laying out the opportunity for you to confess any possible encounter with Sirius to him right here and now. But you can’t do that. You swore to yourself you’d help Sirius, but this doesn’t feel like your place to meddle in. Lupin will find out eventually, but it won’t be like this, not when you have no idea how he’d handle what you know.

“You should imagine mine.” You say simply, and it causes a wisp of a smile to appear on his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and you don’t think he has the strength to force it, either.

He clears his throat before speaking again. “I just wanted to ask you a simple question. [Y/N], are you aware that a person’s Patronus sometimes has a way of reflecting the happy thought it took to conjure it? If perhaps, you think of a memory relating to something, the bond you share with it has a way of showing through your patronus. It’s a curious thing.”

The inkling of the idea was there when you first saw it, but you can’t just tell him that. That thinly veiled suspicion on his face and overall aura of unease isn’t going to go away any time soon, regardless of your answer. With that kind of fast thinking, you wonder why he was a Gryffindor and not a Ravenclaw. He’s already figured it out, but he has no way of proving it beyond skimming around what he really wants to say. You feel kind of bad for having no choice but to leave him second guessing himself. “No, sir. I didn’t. I’m really not sure what you’re trying to get at.”

“Yes, yes. Of course you wouldn’t. This must sound very odd to you, I’m sure. But humor me, please. You know I can’t ask you what happy thoughts you used, as that’s awfully unprofessional. But I’m curious, have you ever seen something akin to your Patronus in real life? It does look unique, don’t you think? Not like any breed of dog you’d normally see as a Patronus.”

He doesn’t say the question you know he wants to ask, but that comes pretty damn close to it. He’s getting desperate. You still can’t tell him what he wants to hear, and every lie you try to think of on the spot is so transparent that it wouldn’t be worth lying in the first place. Making a run for it is starting to sound like the least incriminating thing you could do right now. “Well- I don’t know; I’ve got so much schoolwork on my mind that it overtakes everything else. Can’t forget that premature senility either,” You add on, hoping that the memory of your joke from when he caught you sneaking out would take his mind off the issue weighing in his mind. It doesn’t. “But I am a bit of a dog person, so I do see a lot of dogs during the summer when I take walks and such. We have a dog at home, too.”

His attention is piqued with that, and he leans forward. “And does your dog look like your Patronus?”

“Uhm. No.”

“But have you seen an animal like that? Recently?” He urges tersely.

“I did see a drenched raccoon come out of the lake recently.” You didn’t, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind. You’ll refrain from mentioning the comparison to Sirius. “It was, uh- it was very big.” You’re not helping.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a soft sigh. “If that’s so…” You feel bad watching him. Is he worried for you, and the possibility of your involvement of his ex-friend turned ‘convict’? Or has your Patronus simply reminded him of the horrible position his childhood friend is in right now and it’s left him feeling paranoid and upset? “Please, come to me if you see a dog that shares a similar visage to your Patronus, it’s absolutely imperative that you do.”

You don’t bother with anymore words, with and with a small smile and a simple, “Yes sir.” that you do your best to say without an audible sigh of relief following after it. You leave the worn looking man still staring after you as you quickly leave the classroom.

When the door shuts behind you, you realize that maybe not pressing him as to why you need to be on the lookout for a dog that looks like your Patronus is a lot more damning than asking him. Of course he’d expect you to question him if you have nothing to hide! Why would you have to be on the lookout for a dog? And what’s so important about your Patronus? Not asking questions like that makes it look like you already know the answers, and now you fear that slip up could cost you.

You turn to face the door, but with your hand only inches away from the handle, you know it’ll only make it worse to come barging in with questions you’ve thought up on the spot. He’ll see through your attempt to fix your mistake from a mile away, and it’s probably best to avoid further conversation with Lupin altogether lest you mess up even further. That was strike one; or perhaps strike two if you count his catching you out of bed after hours, unaware that you were on your way to meet the man who has the ability to resemble your Patronus to a T. You’re already on thin ice, and you don’t want to risk anymore close calls with Lupin, because it’s not you who’d be in the most trouble if the outcome of his discovery is bad- it’s Sirius.

The further you get from Lupin’s classroom, the lighter you feel. You will yourself to not let your conversation with him get to you, and if he catches you looking on edge right after such a discussion, it’ll only lead to trouble; so you allow your mind to wander back to its previous celebration of your successful casting of the Patronus Charm that was postponed with Lupin’s questioning.

With a dreamy look on your face, you nearly run into one of your friends as he enters into the Great Hall at the same time as you.

“Hey- I was going to wait when Professor Lupin asked you to stay behind, but it was taking a while so I bailed. What was that about?” He asks.

“He just wanted to congratulate me on my Patronus- very impressive, he said.” You lie; a far more believable one than the all your others. Where was that ability when you were in Lupin’s office just moments ago? What poor timing.

“Ah, yes. Your fashionably late Patronus; very impressive if it didn’t look so scary.”

The smile on your face remains despite his teasing. “I happen to think it’s cute.”

“Of course you would, look at you! You’re on cloud nine. You’d probably find a troll cute if one was marching its way through the hall right now. I get you’re happy and all, but your air of positivity is going to give me hives. The term just started; can you please go back to acting like it? Join us all in our existential dread.”

“No can do. I will ride this wave of optimism for as long as I can.” Why stop now when you can just wipe out later?

“Well take it outside, then. I’m sure you can find something in the Forbidden Forest that wants to see you smile like that- maybe something equally as horrifying.”

“I think I can manage that.”

***

You take your friend’s joking recommendation seriously, and if anything, it’s what you were planning on doing anyway. Early winter comes early spring, and the snow that has accumulated over the course of December is quick to melt, leaving puddles and mud in its wake. The first sign of spring in the air is all the reasoning you need to spend your lunches back outside with Sirius, and a little water isn’t going to stop you from seeing him, nor is Lupin’s behavior going to stop you from allowing yourself to relish in your new ability.

You slide onto the ground, not minding the fact that you’re going to muck up your uniform, and as soon as Sirius -who’s back to the confines of his animagus form- catches the sight of you he bounds over, and when he does you’re quick to wrap your arms around his neck in a welcoming hug.

“I did it!” You say happily. When you pull away, he nudges you with his paw, signaling for you to explain. After all this experience with holding one-sided conversations with him during these lunches, it’s become easy to see his use of body language as a means of communication. It wasn’t that hard before, really. He doesn’t make a very convincing dog when you think about it.

“I performed the Patronus Charm today- successfully! I have a real Corporeal Patronus now, and I owe it all to you- that’s why you get a hug.”

He tilts his head to the side, looking rather excited by your news, but also confused as to how this has anything to do with him. You continue further. “I used you for my happy thoughts; worked quite well too, so much so that it may have affected the visual outcome of the charm…” You trail off, giving him a coy smile. “It’s not that hard to guess, but I’ll give you a hint- you should be feeling very flattered right now.” His tail starts to wag as what you’re hinting at registers in his mind, and there’s something really funny about how doglike he’s willing to act in this form in order to get his delight across, and you can’t imagine the reaction he’d have if you could’ve told him the news face to face.

As exciting as it is, you can’t skirt around your encounter with Lupin, and you feel it’s only right to bring up what happened; it is his childhood friend after all. “Lupin looked like he’d seen a ghost, though.” Your voice grows soft. “I don’t think he was convinced with me pretending to be none the wiser as to whom my Patronus looks like.”

Way to ruin the mood. Sirius’ ceases his tail wagging at the mention of the man, and even worse, his connecting the dots between your Patronus and Sirius’ animagus. “I think he has a sneaking suspicion, but I don’t see him acting on it; the risk of being wrong isn’t worth taking. He has to know that if he finds that he’s wrong, he’s going to be really, _really_ wrong and reveal that he has a history with you and give people reasons to doubt him. And besides, there’s no history between you and I, and it’d be too much of a stretch for him to make any connection to you that should give him reason to believe that my Patronus being identical to your animagus is anything but a coincidence, and I don’t think he’d believe you’d stoop so low as to beg off of a random student who as far as he knows has no connection to any of this. Boy, would he be in for a shock.” You bite your lip, knowing the next words that come out of your mouth have to be said. “But eventually he’s going to find out, _Scruffy_.”

His ears droop in response, as if to say _‘don’t remind me.’_ When he moves to lay down with his head sitting on his paws as he stares vacantly at the tree line of the forest, it’s easy to tell what he’s thinking. What if Lupin’s not willing to accept the truth? After over a decade of having a lie hammered into your head as the truth and everyone around you believing the same, plus the lack of proof to give you reason to suspect differently, there’s no saying if he’d give Sirius the opportunity to explain what really happened that night. Of course Sirius is worried about the possibility of facing his friend after years apart only to find that he won’t accept him. But you have to believe that Lupin would hear him out- that Lupin would welcome him back into his life and help him get justice.

“Come on, he was best friends with you _and_ James Potter who, from what you've told me, was equally as bad as you are; don’t tell me you really think he’d endure over 7 years of trouble making just to grow up to be a narc. And we can’t forget that he’s known this whole time that you’re an animagus, yet has conveniently never thought to bring that up to the authorities to aid them in their search for you. Come on, there’s no doubt that he’s still got a place in his heart reserved for you.”

He huffs, glancing back at you from the corner of his eyes, and it’s clear that he knows you have a point.

[Y/N]: 1

Sirius Black’s doubt and uncertainty: 0

The remainder of your lunch is spent in silence, and when your time with Sirius is up and the hour is nearly over, you pack up your books, leaving Sirius to make his leave back to the Shrieking Shack. You crouch down beside him one last time, taking care to smooth out the fur sticking up in odd places on his face, and press a quick kiss to his forehead before you head back to the castle. You hope the comfort of the simple action will stick with him for the rest of the day, and you wish you could do more for him to ease his worries, but there are limits that come with doing all you can to not get caught, whether it be due to time or communication.

But hey, two in one, right? You’ve got a boyfriend and a dog, that’s not too terrible…

It sounds a lot weirder the more you think about it.

You hold his head in your hands, directly him to look you directly in the eyes, and stare back at him with a serious face. “I just want you to know that this is about as traumatizing to the psyche as dating someone who has the same name as your pet would be.”

He barks in response, and you don’t exactly know what you’re supposed to take from that, but you can only assume he agrees with you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone surprised? Come on, enjoy the cliche. At the start of writing this (back when I was just writing out one giant block of ridiculous text that I never thought would see the light of day) there came a point where I realized it's a lot harder to be ambiguous about something like a Patronus and then I was just like... No rules baby, just cheesiness. 
> 
> Also, I love writing for Lupin so much! I hope I do him justice, since he was my first favorite marauder before Sirius. 
> 
> See you next time!


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to you~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you keep to a schedule, other times you have a chapter that's ~Practically Finished~ rotting away in your files for days because you've been spending all your time stressed out about work and every opportunity you have to write you spend getting carried away with writing a Regulus Black fanfiction that won't ever see the light of day as some form of coping. It happens. I ended up making a Spotify playlist for it too because my scatterbrain self cannot be stopped.
> 
> To be fair, originally this was supposed to go up today had I not posted a day earlier last week, so it's SORT OF JUSTIFIED...
> 
> This chapter gets heated in more ways than one. There's some happy stuff, some mild(?) sad stuff, and then some happy stuff again because I refuse to give you the bad without giving you the good immediately after. I think I have a genuine issue with the speed at which things play out here, but my entire state of being is just one nervous breakdown fueled run on sentence so forgive me if that shows through sometimes. :') 
> 
> And yes I love making random Hogsmeade weekends Just Because I Can.

“Do I really have to leave? I feel like I’m being kicked out of my own house.”

Your friend stands in the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, glaring daggers at you. “You stay away from this tower for the next few hours or I swear I’ll make it so that you’ll be repeating your 7th year alongside Marcus Flint!” She sounds serious, and while you don’t think she can manage such a feat, the look in her eyes is disturbing enough for you to take a step back, putting your hands up in defeat.

It’s your birthday today, and while you can understand the desire from your friends to have a party in your honor, they’re not being subtle about the surprise aspect of it, nor have they been the past seven years about it. It’s not as if you don’t appreciate it, but being woken up so early in the morning on a weekend just to have your clothes thrown at you while being rushed to get ready and leave for an undetermined amount of hours is, if anything, not the greatest way to start your day. But they mean well as they always do, and you’ll let them have their fun, since at least it always results in a good time for everyone in Gryffindor, even those who don’t know whose birthday it is that’s being celebrated.

So you’ll give in and step off- _After_ you get the last word in, of course.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll just sit here until you let me back in. It isn’t a surprise party if I already know you’re planning it in the first place!” Your words fall on deaf ears, and the portrait swings shut behind her with no sign of her caring whether you sit by the portrait or jump into the lake to pass the time. She means business. You’re left alone and standing in front of Sir Cadogan’s painted form, who’s looking down at you from inside his frame.

He shakes his head sympathetically. “How sad, to leave such a beautiful lady unattended and alone, and on her birthday no less! Those dogs you call friends know nothing of chivalry! Do you wish to spend the day with me, the handsome, most noble and brave knight Cadogan?”

 _Speaking of dogs_ … With all your friends so focused on decorating, maybe it’s a good thing you’ve been banned from the common room for the next few hours, because you now have the perfect opportunity to go see the person you’re most wishing to spend the day with. “You know what? I think there are still carriages going out to Hogsmeade, and I could go for a butterbeer right about now,” you say thoughtfully to yourself, turning on your heel and leaving Sir Cadogan to gasp in offense at your offhanded dismissal.

***

When you apparate into the Shrieking Shack, it’s eerily quiet and more so than usual. All you’re able to hear is the creaking of the wood underfoot and the swaying of the shack’s frame against the spring breeze outside. Usually the sound of your entrance, either by way of secret tunnel or apparation would alert Sirius to your presence immediately, but not this time. When you reach the top step and find Sirius fast asleep with his head under a pillow, you understand why he didn’t come to greet you.

You tiptoe across the room, and when you reach his sleeping form you carefully lift the pillow away from his face, the smile you previously held on your face falls at the sight of Sirius’ face. His brows are tightly knit together, and his body is rigid, still as if frozen in fear; the muscles under his waxy skin are flexed and tense as he braces himself against whatever is plaguing his dreams.

You’ve seen him this distraught before, but it’s only ever been when he’s awake. You’ve seen when all the pain, trauma and terrors that keep him from sleeping for longer than an hour or two at a time take over and leave him defenseless; you’ve seen them spill over in the form of angry tears and clenched fists and lip biting that cause his cracked ones to bleed painfully. At those times you can talk him down from whatever he’s of that’s pushing him over the edge, allow him to open up in the safety of another person’s presence; hold his hands until you feel the muscles in them relax and whisper sweet nothings that you know will only temporarily ease the pain but will keep him grounded and stop the pain from taking over. He’s so desperate to hold it in all of the time that it’s no wonder all that strife seeps into his dreams. You make a mental note to stir up some sleeping draughts for him the next chance you get to raid Madam Pomfrey’s supplies for your own potions practice. That’s a solution for the future out of the way, but right now you can’t just wait it out and let him suffer in his sleep; you have to wake him up.

You’re unsure of how to proceed in a way that won’t alarm him, because how do you wake someone up in a way that doesn’t involve pouring water over their head or putting firecrackers under their pillow?

…Maybe the twins really are a bad influence on you, you realize with a grimace. And you thought your roommates and their idea of throwing things at you until you wake up was bad.

Instead of solving one problem by creating a larger, more disastrous problem by further traumatizing him with one of the many terrible options of waking him that you can think of, you settle on kneeling down beside him, whispering his name softly while cautiously reaching out to place a hand to his cheek. “Sirius,” you repeat louder this time, but still retain the gentle tone you had used before. You open your mouth to try again, but don’t get the chance to when Sirius’ eyes snap open, his irises dark and unfocused. His hand reaches up without warning, grabbing the wrist of your hand that’s still on his cheek, and in a split second you feel your back hit the mattress as you’re pressed underneath him. He’s staring down at you now, but it doesn’t look like he’s looking _at_ you, but through you- taking the term ‘ _faraway look in his eyes’_ to a whole other level. His breath is coming out short and ragged, and despite his movements, he still looks out of it; unaware of where he is and who you are.

Maybe you should’ve gone with throwing something at him instead.

“Sirius!” You nearly shout. His hand is still around your wrist, but his grip loosens considerably with the loudness at which you say his name, and when he blinks a few times, his gaze shifts to that of pure horror when he finally takes notice of your body underneath him, your eyes wide with worry- not for you, but for _him_.

He pushes himself away from you, sliding his body away until his back hits one of the posts of the bed.

“I- I’m sorry,” he utters, shaking his head. “I didn’t know it was you. For a moment I thought- I thought aurors-“

You move closer to him, crawling forward until you’re sat between his legs and grabbing his face with both your hands when he tries to look away from you. “Hey, no aurors. No one but me, okay? It’s just me. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re safe now. You’re fine.”

“I could’ve hurt you,”

“But you didn’t. You took control before anything like that could’ve happened. An accident is an accident. You were barely even conscious, you didn’t know.” He shakes his head, disagreeing with you, but that’s not going to get you to change your reaction. Your hands move from resting against his cheeks to against his chest as he gathers himself, and you can feel his breath evening out and his heart rate returning to normal from under your touch. “Do you have them a lot?” You ask after a brief pause, the words coming out carefully.

He lets out a tired breath, leaning his head back and knocking it against the post of the bed before speaking, “Every now and then they occur. When I first broke out I was so used to barely sleeping due to the Dementors waking me up every time they’d brush by my cell that I hadn’t yet realized nightmares would spur if I slept for longer. You can imagine my surprise when I figured out just how shoddy my luck was with that. I’d gotten quite adept at avoiding them by making sure I didn’t sleep for too long at one time, but as of late I haven’t had to do that. I suppose there’s a good reason for that too,” Even after such turmoil he still manages to wink at you at that. His determination to lighten to mood is admirable.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t see a reason to burden you with more of my problems.”

Now you really wish you had something to throw at him. “Don’t be stupid, it’s not a good look on you,” you ignore it when the corner of his mouth upturns into a smirk. “That’s not something you keep from someone who’s in the position to help you. There are easy potions to rid a person of these sorts of things that you could already have right now if you told me before. No more going at this alone, okay?”

“I know, I know. I just… I hate asking. Though I suppose if I don’t start learning to like it you’ll always figure it out some way or another,” his hands reach up to take yours from his chest, holding them in his own and brushing the calloused pads of his thumbs against them. “What a way to start the day,” he says with a sigh. His tone is light and jovial, but there’s something in it that tells you he doesn’t want to continue with the discussion of his nightmares, so you won’t press him.

“There are indeed other, far better ways to start the day that still include me being under you.” You say, and it’s when you’re finished speaking do you realize that as far as jokes to lift one’s spirits go, maybe it’s not the time for such a flirtatious one.

Sirius seems to disagree, and you watch as he blinks at you in surprise. “[Y/N], do my ears deceive me? Are you… Flirting?” His demeanor shifts at your words, and his interest piqued at your sudden boldness. His grin widens as a look of mischief overtakes the hollow one that blanketed his eyes only moments ago.

“Flirting? Why, Sirius, I was making a vague innuendo is all.” You say innocently, biting back a smirk.

“Are you sure? I could’ve sworn it sounded more like a suggestion, or a request, even.”

“Nothing more than a vague innuendo,” you say airily. “Another one would be to wonder aloud about whether your bark really is much worse than your bite.” Ah, you’re too far gone now.

He rolls his eyes. “A dog joke, that’s low even for you,” he doesn’t seem to mind it too much, seeing as he uses it to his advantage. “Now you have me wondering the same thing. Would you like to find out?” He asks, leaning in closer to you.

You pretend to consider his question. “Well, I suppose if you’re not busy,”

“Do I look like I’m busy?”

When he gestures to the empty room of the dilapidated shack, you make a face of acknowledgement. “That’s fair.”

“Are you certain you want to know?” He lets go of your hands, allowing for you to wrap your arms around his neck. His lips graze against your as he waits for your reply, and your face feels warmer at the slight contact. You resist the urge to compulsively lick your lips.

“Positive.”

That’s all he needs to hear for him to move his lips against yours, and you let out a satisfied hum when a hand comes to settle just above your hip bone, fingers grazing the skin underneath your shirt while the other tucks itself against the crook of your neck and pulls you closer. Although it’s still so new; still unfamiliar to the both of you as you map out each other’s skin, learn what makes the other tick and what doesn’t, you don’t think you could ever get tired of it. His touch, the heat you feel as his fingers mindlessly stroke your skin, it’s calming and dizzying all in one, but most of all It feels right.

But despite the fervor at which he touches you, his movements are still careful and cautious. Each move taken with a moment of hesitation you’re only aware of because if there’s anything Sirius does little of, it’s hesitate. Is it out of fear or consideration, you wonder? There are far better places to be in such compromising positions, and you have a feeling he knows it as much as you do.

It’s when you break for air that Sirius decides to speak up, “We should stop,” He says against your lips, but when your hand weaves itself against his hair, his voice dies off into a groan. “[Y/N].” He breathes out.

“You’re right,” you finally mutter, dazed and slow to move away from his touch as you come to your senses. “I’m not going to break into pieces, you know.”

“You’ve proven that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself,” he pauses, taking on a hesitant look. “It’s just terrifying to have something so good in front of you and worry about all the ways you could lose it if you’re not careful enough. I don’t want to scare you away, and I don’t want to ruin it somehow. I won’t allow my own desires to get in the way of what you deserve, and you deserve something far more special than a romp in the Shrieking Shack of all places.” He looks nervous to be revealing this all out loud to you, but he does it regardless, focusing on your eyes and watching for your response. “We both know I’m not in the habit of taking my time, but I don’t want to take anything I have with you for granted,” he chuckles dryly. “What poor circumstances to fall for someone, where all I can give you is my word and hope that you’ll be willing to bide your time with me until I can give you something better. I can’t exactly take you on strolls in the streets of Hogsmeade hand in hand, can I?”

You don’t know if you’ll ever get that chance with him, but you wouldn’t want to be by anyone else’s side in such a scenario. “I knew that wasn’t going to be the case, Sirius. At least not until the ministry finally sees that you’re innocent. If I had a problem with it, I wouldn’t be here. And it’s not as if there’s ever a really good time to fall for someone, or so I’ve heard.”

“Far better ways than when on the run, but I appreciate the attempt.” He remarks lightly. “To think, the only good thing to have happened to me thanks to spending twelve years in Azkaban is meeting you.”

“Well, it’s not as if you’d of met me any other way. Can you imagine if you met me while you actually went to Hogwarts? You would’ve hated me, I can just see it; the internal battle over whether to fight me or kiss me, because I of course would do better than you in all of your classes, and I of course fit the ideal definition of a Gryffindor more than you, and you would be threatened by it but also completely enraptured by me, so you’d do all you could to usurp me.”

“You’ve put far too much thought into that, so it’s especially sad when you consider how far off the mark you are, as I would’ve adored you. We would’ve been disastrous. You think those twins of yours are bad, but I would’ve personally saw to it to get you involved in every one of my stunts. That reckless nature of yours needs a better outlet than helping escaped convicts in your spare time.”

“Don’t forget feeding strays.”

“And kissing strays,”

“Don’t start.”

The look on his face is telling you he definitely intends to start, but before he can, his eyes flash with sudden recognition, a thought popping into his head before any petty comebacks get the chance. “I haven’t told you yet, but happy birthday, [Y/N].”

“I don’t even remembering mentioning it, how did you...? Oh, Wait- Sorry, sometimes I forget that you stalk me when you’re bored. Or do you just go loitering around the grounds waiting for someone to mention my name?” He lets out a noise of offense, but you don’t see him denying it. “You better be careful or someone’s going to call animal control on you.”

He looks appalled at the assumption. “I don’t- _stalk_. I’m appalled you would think so little of me. I merely observe; have to make sure Pettigrew doesn’t pull a fast one on you, or else I’m back to square one.”

“Of course, yes, that’s it. I believe that as much as I believe you didn’t just narrowly forget my birthday, what a shame.”

“I didn’t forget! The thought simply arrived later than intended. And I didn’t expect you to show up on your birthday of all occasions anyway, I suspected you had better company to spend your day with- clearly you don’t.”

“It was this or a date with the portrait of the _courageous_ knight Sir Cadogan. I chose poorly.”

“I should shred him next just for trying.”

“And what? Leave us Gryffindors with an empty picture frame? He was the only one brave enough to take the job, so we owe his position to _you_. Without him there’d still be first years terrified to sleep thinking you’re going to claw your way in. And to think, I could be in the company of such a chivalrous painting, instead I’m here, with the man who forgot to wish me happy birthday before kissing me. So much for a gentleman…”

“Really, I did! Merlin, so stubborn; you’re almost as bad as I am.”

“You’re a bad influence. Look at me, I’ve been surrounded by raging hormones for years and the person to make me crack is you. Are you really surprised that some of your stubbornness has rubbed off on me too?”

“I never thought I’d have such an impact.” You know he’s trying to be bashful, but that beaming smile on his face is not helping his cause.

“As if my Patronus wasn’t enough proof? Or did you think I was trying my hand at being unctuous.”

He looks proud at the mere mention of it. “A telltale sign of your good taste.”

“Don’t be so smug, it’s not attractive.”

“I don’t believe that for a second, I see right through you. You think it’s cute. A part of the reason why you fell for me,”

“Be careful there, Sirius. Keep inflating your ego like that and you might just float away and hit the ceiling,” You deadpan, looking at him with the most apathetic expression that you can manage.

“You wound me, and it only hurts more that you look so adorable while doing so. That face you make when you try to pretend to be serious is awfully cute too. But I might keep your gift to myself if you keep bullying me like that.”

Now _that_ gets your attention. What did he do, send Crookshanks off to a florist for you? “A gift, really? Where is it?”

He laughs at your immediate change in attitude. “Not so stubborn when there are presents on the line, are we? Hold on,” Sirius hops out of the bed, making his way across the room. He slides his hand under a dusty and off kilter dresser that sits at the end of the room, two of its legs on one side having broken and leaving it leaning to one side. “I hid it just in case someone tries to get the scare of their life from such a haunted house when I’m not here and thinks to start snooping around.”

He tosses it to you, and you catch what looks to be a wad of leftover wrapping paper from Harry’s Firebolt, but the strategically placed pieces of tape (though they do little to help secure the paper) lead you to believe it’s the best attempt he’s made at wrapping it. Sirius walks back and decides on his own accord to change from the previous seating arrangement, leaving you cross-legged tucked against his chest with his arms around your midsection and his head resting on your shoulder as peers down at you.

“Open it, open it,” he urges eagerly.

And so you do; when you tear away the wrapping, you find within it is a small stone, carved into the crude shape of what looks to be Sirius’ own animagus form. It’s attached to a thin leather cord and tied off at the end with a tight bow.

When he takes in your look of awe, he explains. “Having so much time on one’s hands leaves them a little desperate for something to do, and since I can’t simply touch you all day…” Merlin, how can he say things like that so casually? “I took to carving when you aren’t around. I think it resembles me well enough, don’t you think? Not as adorable as Scruffy –we really need to think of a new name sometime soon- but you get the idea. I may have had to steal a woman’s bracelet to get the pieces need to make it into a charm, but, well, for the greater good, right? Now that I think about it I could’ve just given you the bracelet I stole and saved myself the trouble…”

You try to hide your smile with a disapproving look, but you fail miserably. “It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“I thought, since your Christmas present for me reminds me of not only Harry but also the person who gave it to me in the first place, you should have something to remind you of me. Not that you really have to be reminded of me; I know I’m always on the forefront of your mind.”

“I’ll have you know that the center of my attention is either passing my exams or catching Peter. You? Not a chance.”

“Wouldn’t I be included in the plot against Pettigrew?” He questions, his eyes still watching as you fiddle with your gift. He makes a grabbing motion towards it, and wraps it around your wrist for you as you respond.

“You were just the one to instill the idea in me, I’ve got a thirst for justice now, you see. I won’t be satisfied until that happens.”

“You were right- I have rubbed off on you. Although, I can’t say that’s a bad thing.” He adds with a smirk.

***

Time gets away from you, and another hour into your visit to Sirius, you figure that your friends must be done now, and are probably waiting (impatiently) for you. How much time can one spend decorating the common room, anyway? And with other people buzzing around in and out all day and getting in their way, it’s not as if they can go all out and bother people who don’t particularly care who they’re trying to plan a party for. If they’re not done now, you may just have to slum it with Sir Cadogan until they are, and you really don’t want to do that. You might just have to force Sirius to write an apology letter to the Fat Lady and slip it below her portrait when she’s too busy belting out a high note to notice if only to get rid of the relentless knight.

As you reach his portrait, you find Fred and George are already waiting outside, both standing against the brick wall with their arms crossed, looking at you expectantly.

“Took you long enough,” George says when he sees you. He shakes his head, taking on the demeanor of a disappointed parent.

“Where’d you go? Poor ol’ Cadogan here says you stood him up.” Fred waves a hand towards the now masked knight who now sits broodingly behind the lone miniature horse in his painting, refusing to turn at the mention of his name.

“I had a date with some butterbeer. I was told to stay away from the common room, I thought going so far as Hogsmeade would’ve been enough.”

“That was an awfully long time just to down a tankard of butterbeer. We’ve been waiting for you-“

George puts a hand out to stop him, “For homework help, of course. We want to copy your older potions essays if you still have them.”

“You both know I burn those as soon as the year ends. Every time I stumble upon one I get vivid flashbacks of Snape staring me down like some kind of sadist as he marks them with _A_ ’s when we all know they should be _O_ ’s, so don’t bother. I know it’s a party, George. This happens every year!”

“Well of course you know, but that’s what makes it fun, seeing you pretend to be surprised for all of our sakes. Bless your heart, it’s so terribly unbelievable, but you still try. You really do care.”

“And if anything, a party if exactly what we needed; everyone is either dead on their feet from Quidditch, or drained from all the coursework they’re forcing on us this term, you 7th years especially.”

“Now, do us all a favor and slap this on your face like a good, totally unsuspecting birthday girl and let us walk you into the common room.” Fred pulls a Gryffindor neck tie from his pocket, and before you can object, your field of vision is now limited to the back of the fabric.

“Fred, do you even wash this? Why does it smell so bad? Do you not wash your neck?”

“Keep talking and I’ll walk you right off the Astronomy Tower.”

“Then you’ll be the one trying to get blood stains out of your gross tie, so I’ll have won because you’ll finally end up washing this of its teen boy stench.”

“Will you two shut it?”

You and Fred begrudgingly silence your squabbling as George mutters the password out to Sir Cadogan, who swings open the portrait hole is a loud, depressing sigh.

You can hear hushed whispers and the footsteps of your friends as they get into place, and when the tie is removed from your face and you can see once more, you’re welcomed by a chorus of _happy birthday!_ by your group of friends, including the twins who stand on either side of you who practically shout it directly into your ears.

The common room, which is always red and gold for as far as the eye can see, now is littered with colorful streamers hung from wall to wall, an enchantment put on the ceiling allows for confetti to float down and never hit the floor. Charmed lanterns hover within the confetti, illuminating the room above you and casting light below as they spin in slow circles. There’s the soft hum of music in the background, and a small cake sits waiting for you to blow out its candles on a table in the back.

It’s almost too much. Maybe it’s being bombarded with one shot to the heart after another today, or maybe it’s because this is the last time you’ll be celebrating your birthday with all these people around you in the common room of the Gryffindor Tower, the place you’ve called home for the past seven years, but to know that this much love could fill one person’s life, and so quickly, causes tears prick at the corner of your eyes, and you can’t help but smile goofily at their surprise.

“I think we broke her; have you ever seen her look like that before? I mean, she always likes the parties we plan for her, but this is more of a reaction than I was expecting…”

“Maybe she’s getting better at lying; I mean it _is_ some pretty believable excitement.”

“Did someone slip her amortentia?”

“I don’t see her trying to snog any of us right now, so,-”

The topic moves on as your friends begin to accept that no, you aren’t under the effects of a love potion, nor were you hit over the head by a stray bludger. You’re just genuinely happy. And so the party continues as originally intended; with fun and an escape from the usual routine of school life. And eventually, after hugging each friend personally despite their objections and worry for your sanity, you blow out your candles and make your birthday wish.

Perhaps, you’ll find in time that it’ll come true, and this time next year you’ll be able to do something like this again with Sirius by your side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius please open an etsy store...
> 
> I'd like to achieve the whole one chapter a week deal but it might not happen, as I mentioned before I've been swamped in ~real life~ work so my updates might not make an appearance as often as they usually do. I hope you guys can understand! But as always, I'll see you all in the next update, whenever that may be :')
> 
> On another note, you never did get that butterbeer did you :/


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred and George, unofficial matchmakers to the stars (they're working on it) give you the chance to confess feelings you definitely don't have, and you're left to clear the air. A gesture of goodwill, or their best prank yet? 
> 
> Either way it leads to one disaster after another, so all in all they did pretty well for themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time an update is more than two days late I guarantee I'm probably just mulling over whether or not I should flee to the hinterlands instead of posting because I caught a severe a case of secondhand embarrassment during the editing process -I can't even call it that because I could barely withstand looking at it lmao- and am terrified by the thought of it being seen by other people. When in doubt just close your eyes and hit the post button and don't look at your computer for a few days!!! 
> 
> You have Author Approval™ to skip this one if you decide that it isn't worth your time. It's just something silly I thought would be fun before... Oh, You Know. :) 
> 
> And do I think Fred and George lack this much tact? Not at all. Did I care when this idea came over me? Nah.

After another day of barely scraping through your classes for the day and being left with a pile of homework weighing you down (mentally _and_ physically; has your bag ever felt this heavy before?) all you want to do is take a nap before you have no choice but to tackle all the work you have to do.

Or maybe you could crawl under a rock until graduation- that sounds nice.

On your way to the Gryffindor Tower, you pass by Fred and George, the two of which visibly perk up when they see you coming, which can’t mean anything good. Were they waiting for you? When you hear their matching strides come up from behind you and they move to stand in front of you, stopping you before you can reach the staircase and shake them off, it looks like you have your answer. Why is this always their preferred method of starting a conversation with you?

“[Y/N], we’ve decided on something,” they say in unison, not batting an eye when you roll yours.

“Please, not another decision. I don’t like your decisions. The one for Harry was fine and dandy, but you’ve both used your mandatory good deed for the year when you helped Patricia Stimpson get revenge on that Ravenclaw boy who stood her up last week. Now I know you’re up to no good.” You make no attempts to hide the exhaustion in your voice when you speak.

“That was awfully nice of us, wasn’t it?” George says with a pleased expression that makes you think he’s seconds away from patting himself on the back. “But we’ve had this idea in the works for a while. So if anything that was Fred and I using up the last of our remaining charitable urges. So I can solemnly swear that we are _not_ up to no good.”

That definitely doesn’t help their case. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

Fred chooses to conveniently ignore your disbelief. “We’ve decided that since the end of the school year is rapidly approaching; more importantly, your graduation, we need to do something nice for you.”

“Which is why we’ve decided to play matchmaker, just for you,” somehow, neither twin takes notice as your face contorts into a look akin to the one a person makes when stepping into a puddle of water while wearing socks.

You could _really_ use that nap right about now.

Why, why is it always you? You can always expect them to be up to some sort of scheme, but this is far from what you were expecting from them. Being the guinea pig to one of their pranks wouldn’t have been as terrible as a surprise as this, and maybe a trip to the hospital wing would get you out of some of the work you have to do.

This is probably on you for not just breaking out into a run the moment you laid eyes on them, and it makes sense the more you think about it. You _have_ been noticing an increased talk of topics such as dating and relationships around you for a while, but all in all you thought it was nothing more than good fun; their chance to tease you for your disregard for such things as of late, since it’s not like you can tell them all about the current state of your love life. But then your friends started joining in, asking you questions like, _‘what color hair do you find attractive in a partner?’_ And, _‘if you could save one person in Herbology from being trampled to death by a pack of centaurs, who would it be, and why?’_ The latter of which you think needs some work; what about that would indicate to them who you’d prefer to date?

Needless to say, they weren’t pleased with your answer of Professor Sprout, who you chose solely because if you saved her life she’d be more inclined to grade you better on your potting skills.

“Is this why I’ve been facing an uptick in romance related questions coming from all sides?”

Their Cheshire grins grow bigger at the mention of their co-conspirators. “Your 7th year friends are way too easy to convince. They’re all for you finding love!”

“But we’re not done yet,” please, no. “That brings us to our next surprise and the reason for us blessing you with our presence all of the sudden. Why find love on your own, when you can have your dear friends catch someone just for you!” George sounds as if he’s making some kind of sales pitch, and you don’t like what he’s selling. This is starting to sound far worse than you originally thought.

“We stopped Oliver Wood after Quidditch practice and asked him to go wait by that tree you always sit at for lunch-” oh, no.

“-And told him you’d meet him there! We caught you a good one, so now’s your chance to go have some fun!” No, no, no.

It’s worse than you thought- much worse. You don’t even think it could get any worse than this.

You resist the urge to throttle the both of them on the spot, and that takes strength. They mean well- or maybe they don’t and they’re taking twisted satisfaction in putting you in a precarious situation and turning you into a fish out of water (for kicks, duh). You inhale deeply, reining in your anger before speaking in a clipped voice. “Haven’t I mentioned a thousand times that I don’t like Oliver? Like, at all? It was one time- a silly crush!”

George shrugs in response, unbothered. “Guess you better start. He’s there right now, waiting and willing to hear what you have to say. Perhaps you both can discuss the lack of love in your lives over a cup of tea at Madam Puddifoot's.”

A strangled groan is fighting its way up from the back of your throat. It might actually be a scream, but you can’t be sure. “What did you even tell him?”

“Only that you want to speak to him, in the place most _special_ to you.” Fred says with an air of confidence that you want to swat away.

You’re going to kill them. No, even worse- you’re going to tell their mom. Even better, you’ll mail your mom, and your mom will mail their mom, and then when they get a howler in the middle of breakfast _that’s_ when they’ll realize they messed up.

“Is this really how you two spend your time? Analyzing my love life? What a waste!” You shrug your bag off your shoulder, shoving it against Fred’s chest and telling him to leave it in the common room for you, because you’re not about to carry that thing around for any longer than you have to all because they decided on their own accord that you wanted a romantic meet-cute forced upon you when you least expected it.

Actually, that’s already happened to you, hasn’t it? Huh.

You don’t bother waiting to hear what they have to say, but they don’t mind shouting it at your retreating form as you make your way out of the castle. “There’s nothing to waste if there’s no love life to speak of, [Y/N]! You should be lucky to have us as your friends, since we’ve taken it upon ourselves to fix that for you!” George calls out, and you once again show serious self-discipline by not shouting a few expletives in return.

***

When you reach Oliver, you find him aimlessly kicking at the ground awaiting your arrival. He looks up and smiles when you jog over, and an apology is already tumbling from your lips, “I’m so sorry Oliver, Fred and George are idiots-” the words die off in your throat; sentence left unfinished when you catch sight of the slightest movement within the brush of the Forbidden Forest behind Oliver. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.

The universe is out to get you, you fear, and it seems that it’s found a way to get another laugh out of your suffering.

Any rational excuse you’re hoping to come up with on the fly vanishes before your eyes; overshadowed by the sudden appearance of Sirius’ animagus form peeking out from the bushes you so often see him in, ears perked up and head cocked to the side, looking awfully curious by your presence at this hour (which is far from your daily lunches in this spot, and not nearly late enough for you to be sneaking around outside with little risk of being caught) and accompanied by a boy your age no less.

It’s here when you realize that you might’ve been jinxing yourself this entire time, since so far every bad outcome that could happen has indeed happened despite your mental pleas.

Your eyes widen with pure panic, and immediately dart back to Oliver, who doesn’t seem to realize your sentence cutting off there wasn’t intentional. “-what else is new?” Oliver responds, still holding a boyish grin on his face. He doesn’t look perturbed by your sudden silence, nor has he noticed what is most likely mild horror lamenting in your eyes.

With your focus more on the big oaf of a dog just a few yards away in the background, you’re quick to rip this bandage off. Maybe if you make this quick you’ll have time to go fight Sirius with your bare hands. “Listen,” you start with a deep inhale of breath, “I’m really sorry you got dragged into this, but Fred and George seemed to think that I wanted them to play matchmaker and find me someone to date, but obviously I didn’t ask them-“

“But you don’t want to date?” He questions; and with that, this truly becomes the day where you can’t catch a break.

Sirius is one stray glance away from getting seen by Oliver, and you don’t know who’s going to be in more trouble if that happens. Sirius, for being spotted and raising suspicions about there being a slightly-unsettling looking oversized dog roaming the grounds like it’s looking for something to eat, or Oliver, who Sirius is now looking at like he’s his next victim, because when the words ‘ _you_ ’ and ‘ _date_ ’ come out of Oliver’s mouth, the ears of his animagus form go back, gray eyes narrowed at Oliver’s back and lips already curling into a snarl.

You don’t have the energy or the lack of shame to just faint your way out of this.

You clear your throat, loud and uncalled for but hopefully Sirius has enough sense to understand the hidden meaning within it since he can clearly hear this train wreck of a conversation. The hidden meaning being, ‘now is not the time to prove yourself to be the ‘Number One Protective Boyfriend in All of Great Britain (and Possibly the World),’ so please kindly stop looking like you’re about to take a bite out of Innocent Bystander Oliver Wood.’

“N-no?” You answer hesitantly.

“Oh, yeah- of course. I get it.” He says casually, or as casual as he can make it sound now that he’s realizing the way this is going.

“Did you… think I wanted to?”

He makes a face, flushing at the accusation as he scratches the side of his face awkwardly. At Oliver’s silence over your question, Sirius moves closer from behind him. Can you _please_ get that nap now? “Well, I don’t know- the way they said it made it seem like you were going to confess to me, so I was bracing myself for that. I mean, you did kind of like me in 5th year, didn’t you?”

Is that really common knowledge? Did everyone know? It’s not like you were flailing after him! Merlin’s beard, is nothing sacred? “I mean, yes, but-”

He rushes out a reply before you can finish, and the words are jumbled and said so quickly that it’s hard to keep up, “-so I thought, why not. I mean see what comes from it? McGonagall _is_ starting to worry I’m abusing my post as captain by imposing too many hours for training, and our match against Ravenclaw went well enough and Harry has his Firebolt back, so I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad if-“

It almost sounds as if he’s convincing himself of why it’d be a good idea to go out with you (and you’d be lying if you said your pride isn’t wounded a little) but he doesn’t get the chance to list more reasons; that must’ve been enough for Sirius, and a twig crunches underneath one of his paws as he stalks forward again, making Oliver to stop during his spiel to turn his head towards the sound. You spring into action, forcing his attention back onto you by holding him in place with your hands on his arms; an action that has his eyebrows raising as he stares back at you in confusion. Somewhere in the world someone who hates your guts is laughing as they throw a doll that looks suspiciously like you off of a cliff right now.

You better stop him before he can dig his grave any deeper. Just when you thought you wouldn’t have to kick a puppy, now you have to do it while he’s down.

But it’s okay! You can fix this.

Hopefully?

You know Sirius can hear you, but you speak a little louder just for added measure, your tone apologetic. “No- no that’s- no. I’m sorry, Oliver, I haven’t told Fred and George- but I’m seeing someone,” someone who is staring daggers at him right now. That gaze must be burning a hole into his back. Ouch. “I haven’t told anyone about it, actually. So they thought _this,_ ” you gesture between you and Oliver, “would be possible. But as you now know that isn’t the case.”

You move away from him with an unconvincing chuckle, dropping your arms back down to your sides. “And besides, you’re a dear friend to me, Oliver. I wouldn’t want to change that. Plus I wouldn’t want to distract you from Quidditch. Puddlemore United needs you more than I do.”

You’ve said the magic words. His eyes go starry for a moment, and you can practically see the image of him wearing PU’s colors while flying on a Firebolt of his own appearing in his head at the mention of his dream team. You’re certain you just plunged him into the same fantasy that gives him the willingness to wake up before the crack of dawn each morning and push the limits of every member of the Gryffindor team. That should be more than enough to keep his focus away from this unpleasant conversation.

“You’re absolutely right, [Y/N]. Maybe what I really needed what a reminder about priorities,” thank Godric for his ability to bounce back fast. “Well, no hard feelings then? I sure hope the bloke you’re with doesn’t get word of this, though. I’d probably be in a world of hurt for even trying, ay?” He says lightly.

“Oh I- I doubt that. I’m sure he has enough sense to not make a fool of himself in such a way. He’s practically a lovesick puppy,” You say through gritted teeth, eyes now glancing back at Sirius who’s retreating backwards at an achingly slow pace, ears drooping down sheepishly at your words.

Oliver lets out a relieved chuckle. “Good; wouldn’t want to make a bad impression all due one poorly planned set up.” Er- might be too late for that. “And McGonagall thinks I’m too harsh on these guys; this is just proof they’ve got too much time on their hands! Well, I’ve got to run now, Fred and George dragged me off before I could go put away the Quidditch gear, and Madam Hooch is one messy locker room away from locking me out. You’ll probably see them first, so be sure to harass them for me, will you? After all this, I expect you to show no mercy.”

“Do I ever?”

He gives you a quick goodbye, and leaves with the last shreds of his dignity still intact (no thanks to the Weasley twins; or your boyfriend for that matter.) When you wave him off as he starts on his way back to the Quidditch Pitch, you turn back to the forest when he’s a safe enough distance away, ready to tell off Sirius, but he’s nowhere to be found.

***

“Judas!” You nearly shout as you storm into the common room. You pause to put your hands on your knees, attempting to regain your breath after running your way back to the castle to give your friends a lecture on a little thing called ‘boundaries’ and ‘sensibility’ and ‘not meddling in your love life because there’s a lot going on there and it’s a long and incriminating story that you can’t explain and maybe one day you’ll tell them and laugh about it but they probably won’t find it funny considering risking an Azkaban sentence isn’t what people mean when they say to have fun during your school years.’

“Does anyone know what she’s going on about now?” One of your friends peaks up at you over the edge of his Transfiguration textbook, raising an eyebrow and watching you calmly.

“You’ve been working with the twins! How could you?”

“Oh, come off it [Y/N]! It was all in good fun, and we all agree you should live a little and try dating around. It’s fun!” Says another; the same friend who was seconds away from tossing you from the common room and off the Gryffindor Tower’s landing during your birthday.

 _You?_ Live a little? You’ve been living it up a little _too_ much since you met Sirius, if anything.

“The burden of dealing with all of you is far too great for me to add the baggage of dating someone to my shoulder,” you say seriously.

“You say that, but everyone can see right through you. Face it, [Y/N], you need a little love in your life.”

“How do you know that I’m not already dating someone?”

“Are you?” Her voice turns serious, and she’s already bounding across the room towards you with an excited glint in her eyes that makes you nervous.

You open your mouth to deny the accusation, but realize that if they try to set you up with someone again, Sirius may just take a bite out the next person who tries. “Yes,” you admit with a grimace, and your answer is immediately met with a barrage of skepticism.

“She has to be lying,” your other friend mutters under his breath, trying his best to involve himself as little as possible in the scene that’s playing out in front of him.

“Am not!” You respond back hotly.

“Are too!” Fred shouts from his seat on the other side of the room. Oh, come on; have they been sitting there this whole time? The look on his face and George’s tells you they’re having way too much fun watching this unfold.

George puts a hand up to stop you two. “[Y/N], do you swear that you’re telling the truth?”

Your eyes meet him, and without a single trace of hesitation, you answer honestly. “Yes.”

“I believe her,” he says, leaning back in his chair and satisfied with your answer, “Have you seen her try to lie? It’s depressing; I can’t even compliment her on her attempts because they’re that bad.”

“I’m standing right here, you know.”

“He’s got a point.” Still flipping through his book, your friend doesn’t even bother to look up.

“You guys really know how to hurt my feelings,” ah, ignored once again.

“Okay- so say you’re telling truth. How are we just hearing about this?”

“I- well. It’s a recent relationship. We’re taking it slow. I decided for his sake to keep it on the down low.”

“Does he go to Hogwarts?”

“No…”

“But you just said it’s recent; recent would mean within the past few months.”

“I- I met him at Hogsmeade. He’s older.”

“How much older?”

In dog years or people years? “Enough,” you say vaguely, and perhaps too vaguely, as the skeptical look on her face tells you she’s clearly not satisfied with your cryptic answers.

“What does he look like? Is he handsome?”

“He’s got the whole ‘tall dark and handsome’ look going on,” maybe under the layers of grime built up from Azkaban, but that hasn’t stopped you from kissing him, has it? “And he’s got nice hair.” Presumably, though it could do with a brush and a trim, and maybe a deep condition-

“He sounds cute. Why haven’t you introduced us?”

Curse you, Dumbledore, for making it so that you can’t apparate your way out of this conversation. You pray it doesn’t show on your face that you’re wracking your brain for a believable answer that even you can say convincingly. “See, that’s the thing-“

The universe, who has up until this moment decided to act like a cold-hearted bastard to you, decides to throw you a bone, and it’s Oliver Wood who saves you from another failed impromptu excuse, stomping his way into the common room with a deadened expression in the same moment you’re about to say something that no one would believe, taking the attention away from your sudden admission to being in a relationship and placing it on him as soon as the words, “We’re doomed,” leave his mouth.

“Want to explain, Wood?” Fred starts.

“Or should we just start planning our funerals?” George adds on.

Oliver holds up a hand to stop them from continuing, his eyes narrowing momentarily at their jokes. “There I was leaving the Quidditch Pitch, when I heard something like a growl. I saw eyes from within the Forbidden Forest, horrifying ones attached to the body of a giant dog- it was a Grim, I swear! Just when I thought about the possibility of lightening our load, this happens! It’s a sign; we’re not going to win the cup if we keep on like this. We can’t be slacking when such an important game is at stake. We have to train even harder now; I know I’ve bumped training up to six days a week, but I think we need longer hours. We can’t let fate pull a fast one on us like this- I refuse to let a Grim tell us what we can and cannot do.” He walks towards one of the tables in the back, pulling out a piece of parchment and grabbing a quill, already starting on a rough diagram of the pitch while muttering something about upping the training regime.

Sirius couldn’t help himself, could he? Does he think seeing you standing next to what one can assume is a well-to-do boy that was somewhat willing to go out with you (if anything, you have a feeling the only reason why he was considering it in the first place was because he couldn’t think of anything else to do during his free time without Quidditch being involved) means his position in your life is somehow threatened? Does he think his only chance is making sure Oliver spends every waking moment (thus, every opportunity that could be spent around you) playing Quidditch? If he’s going to stoop so low the least he can do is be petty in a way that doesn’t risk the chance you getting murdered in your sleep by a horde of angry Quidditch players who think you’re to blame for Oliver being at the pitch so late and having a run in with a _Grim_ as a result.

Fred and George curse from their seats. “He’s hallucinating now! Look what you’ve done, [Y/N]. You broke his heart and drove him to insanity!” George cries, pointing to Oliver. “And how do you even get ‘we need to train more’ from an omen of death?”

“That’s because we’re done for, Georgie. An extra hour of Quidditch practice a day will have me wasting away like poor Scabbers.”

“Rest in peace, Fred. I hardly knew ye’,” George says solemnly, leaning across the table to try and force Fred’s eyes shut- only to get his hand slapped out of the way before he can.

Just as it’s looking like the disturbances of the day are beginning to dwindle, a screech comes from the boy’s dorm, and barreling down the steps is Ron, holding the sheets from his bed that upon closer inspection are speckled with dark red stains.

“Where’s Hermione?!” He cries angrily, head swiveling around and searching for the bushy haired girl amidst the few students residing in the common room; he turns back to his brothers when he doesn’t spot her. “It’s Scabbers! Just look at this,” he sounds on the verge of tears as he holds out the bloodied sheets to his brothers, who look more confused than concerned. “He’s dead! Scabbers is dead and that demon cat of hers ate him!” If he wasn’t so upset, you’d compliment him on having such impeccable timing.

“What did I tell you?” Oliver speaks up through the stunned silence of the common room, looking up from his erratic writing and gesturing to an equally disheveled Ron, “the Grim!”

Well, at least it’s not just you who’s having a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A personal apology to Oliver Wood, who is this week's Chekhov's Gun. Remember when Fred and George mentioned the reader's crush on him all the way back in chapter 3? And then in the 5th chapter I mentioned the twins having a sudden interest in your love life? I usually (try to) forget the contents of a chapter as soon as it's posted, so I'm surprised I can even remember those things, but haha... as you can see I definitely planned this.... Totally. 
> 
> *wipes the sweat from my brow* I pulled that off with about as much grace and ease as JK herself (lol) would have.
> 
> At least now we know I don't have a future as a comedian. My true passion lies in messing everything up and defying the tag that very clearly says "fluff and humor" so I can't wait for the next chapter. We've entered our downward spiral and it's one punch to the gut after another now :)
> 
> Anyway, see you all next time!!


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you think studying with Sirius is bad... Honey You've Got A Big Storm Comin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *remembers this story has a plot* unfortunate
> 
> edit: the word count because of this chapter... I'm so lame for laughing I'm sorry-

Easter Break is greeted with about as much enthusiasm as a detention served under the combined forces of Professor Snape and Filch would be- which is to say completely nonexistent. When everyone gets piled high with homework on the last day of school and told that it’s all due on the first day back, the allure vanishes, and instead of a break from the constant work that everyone has been eagerly waiting for, the students of Hogwarts are met with nothing more than a glorified school week.

The closer to exam season you get, the more homework your professors feel compelled to dole out in order to prepare you for them; as if taking on multiple N.E.W.T. level classes isn’t enough preparation, it seems having your spirit broken by one too many Potions essays and Transfiguration projects is also a necessity in the learning process. 

When school returns and exams loom close in the distance, it only gets worse (if that’s even possible at this point; we’re talking full on, “D’ya think I should just pretend I’m a squib to get out of this class?” levels of dread.) and it’s as if everyone in the castle has suddenly taken up residence in the library. There are scattered students sitting tucked away in corners of the corridors and hunched over textbooks between classes, people muttering spells and their uses under their breath at breakfast between each bite, and the amount of students you’ve seen wandering to and from the extra study sessions put in place during the end of year exams dead on their feet with defeated looks in their eyes has risen considerably.

And members of the Gryffindor and Slytherin Quidditch teams are looking to be closer to their breaking points than anyone else. With the final to the Quidditch Cup coming up as well, their schedules are tightly packed with little space for downtime. And Oliver Wood -despite having his own classes and exams to worry about- is still ruthless with the amount of practice he’s been inflicting on the members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team after his run in with a so-called _Grim_ (the very same one that continues to justify such a petty act by saying, ‘I thought he was coming on to you! I was being chivalrous!’) Needless to say, Oliver hasn’t once considered putting Quidditch on the backburner as the growing amount of homework begins to take precedence over all else, even if it means looking near the point of tears when practice is over and he’s forced to come back to the common room each night and face the homework he can’t put off for any longer.

But it isn’t just school and Quidditch that makes the air tense around you, but Ron and Hermione’s strained friendship as well. After Ron found blood on his sheets that led him to believe Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers the two have been on thin ice, and the animosity between the two third years is felt by all the members of your house. When Ron came barreling down from the boy’s dormitory with the news, you almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. But nothing good seems to last for long, and after a visit to Sirius and a very weird, stern talking to with Crookshanks while in his animagus form, he discovered that Crookshanks hadn’t seen Scabbers in days, and whatever blood Ron had found wasn’t his doing. Somehow it seems Peter has managed to successfully fake his death for a second time, and is now attempting to escape the clutches of the angry cat that knows his secret.

On the upside, this means the pretense you had previously arranged with Ron to try and take Scabbers is no longer needed, not with everyone believing he’s dead, meaning you’re on your own to catch him with a squeaky clean alibi. Now your weekends aren’t just spent studying, but wandering the empty halls of the castle, textbook in one hand and a bag of treats in the other; a last stitch effort to try and find his whereabouts.

On the downside, though, the news that Peter has fled once again only sends Sirius further off the rails and he’s already biting at the bit enough as it is to search the Gryffindor Tower and the remainder of the castle on his own to get his hands on him once and for all. It’s taken a lot of convincing and talking down on your end to get him to see the flawed logic behind such plans, and you know that one more false move from Peter will prove to be dangerous to someone, and with how much the mere mention of the man riles him up, you worry that someone is going to be Sirius if he’s not careful.

But thanks to the poor timing of all these events that are now overlapping each other, when you aren’t searching the endless rooms and corridors of the castle for a man that’s spent twelve years perfecting his hiding skills in the body of a rat, you’ve enlisted Sirius as your part time study partner. Aside from catching a murderer, you’ve still got exams to pass, and if anything it helps keep Sirius’ mind off of things and keeps him busy. He’s more than willing, surprisingly enough, though his intentions quickly prove to be less about studying and more about spending time with you.

He’s a pretty terrible ‘tutor’ -you use this word loosely- since after a good ten minutes of trying to help you, his focus is already on one of the muggle crossword books you’ve procured for him via a plea to your father that you need something to take your mind off of all the studying you’ve been doing (it’s not too far from the truth; watching Sirius struggle to identify things that most wizards have no understanding of can be quite the distraction. “[Y/N], what’s an eight letter word for an atmospheric pressure unit?” “I’m going to throw you out that boarded up window if you don’t let me finish this essay,” “No, I don’t think that’s it.”)

Perhaps going to the person who never studied a day in his life and still got high marks throughout school without even trying was a poor idea on your part, but him being a distraction isn’t _always_ a bad thing.

***

“As an alternate to taking a potion, one can swallow the eggshells of what to rid themselves of Ague?”

You tap your fingers against the textbook sitting in your lap, not once needing to open it to find the answers to the questions Sirius is testing you with. “Ashwinder, obviously- but wait- it’s _whole_ Ashwinder eggs, not just Ashwinder eggshells. Are you not reading it correctly? Come on, Sirius. You’re the one holding the parchment with all the answers on it! Are you trying to get me to fail?”

Sirius rolls his eyes, fanning you with the parchment as if it’ll subdue your anger. “You got it right, didn’t you? Don’t get mad at my reading comprehension skills simply because you’re stressed.”

“I am rightfully stressed and you know it. I think Snape has had it out for me since I talked back to him during the Christmas feast. He might just slip the wrong ingredients into my cauldron all so he can get the satisfaction of giving me a _T_ and ruining my future.”

“I’ll bite his hand off if he tries.” He says, and there’s nothing in the way that he says it that makes you think he’s joking.

“You won’t.” You say disapprovingly, but your light tone doesn’t fit the threat. You know he’d probably do it if given the permission and that would be an awfully stupid way of getting himself put back in Azkaban.

Consequences aside, you can’t say you wouldn’t pay to watch that

He hums in response, a teasing smile on his face. “If you’re getting tired of all this potions practice, you could always take this valuable time to practice being a healer on me. You know, so you get an idea about what it’ll be like when you start your career. You can even give me a sponge ba-“

The textbook you were once holding hits him firmly on the forehead, and he lets out a yelp through his pained laughter as his hand moves to rub the spot.

“Sorry, did that hurt? It was supposed to mortally wound. You’re not even supposed to be conscious right now. Let me just try again-“

“Come now, they do say laughter is the best medicine!”

Godric, why is it so hard to stay serious around him? Aren’t you here to study? And isn’t he supposed to be helping? You refuse to crack a smile, no matter how much you want to. “Not this time. My entire future depends on the grades I get in the next coming weeks and you think it’s wise to joke with me about your depraved fantasies. Just because you never had to bother studying in order to ace your exams doesn’t mean I can do the same! Anyone who could think about such things now is either not taking exams or already expecting to fail.”

“You need to relax, I think you and I both know you’re already going to blow your classmates out of the water and do just fine on your exams, I don’t doubt you already know the answers to every question on this silly study guide… And if that doesn’t lighten your mood, how about we try a new studying technique; a kiss for every correct answer you get?”

“You _just_ said I probably know all of them.”

“And wouldn’t you like to test that and see if it’s true?”

Bloody bastard, making you eat your own words just to get a kiss out of you. You hate that it’s working.

“You do realize I’m here to study, right?” Curse you and the lack of conviction in your tone. Your own body, a traitor! The unconvincing tone of your voice isn’t lost on Sirius, who already knows your answer.

The smirk on Sirius’ face tells you he already knows your answer. “When did I say you wouldn’t be studying? I happen to think every healer should be well versed in human anatomy.”

***

Enthralling study session aside, back at the castle, the halls remain barren of life. because of your visit to Sirius you’ve opted out of some of the extra study lessons, leaving you basically alone in the common room aside from a pair of students studying on their own by the window tucked away in the corner, and one snoring on the couch, looking like his last study session was the final nail in the coffin. You figure most students will be starting on their way to dinner by now, so you might as well follow along.

Going upstairs to drop your bag off, when you start back down the stairs, you pause when you hear a noise coming from the other staircase that leads up to the boy’s dormitory. You lean over the railing, straining to hear the noise again. Is that- is that _hissing_?

The handful of students in the common room don’t seem to notice, the pair studying are out of earshot and the one sleeping you worry wouldn’t wake up even if a Thunderbird came flying through one of the windows.

You continue your descent back down the staircase and tip toe your way up the concrete steps towards the noise at the top of the other set, slowly in hopes of not startling the source of the sound that’s growing more familiar by the second.

When you reach the landing and find a ball of red fluff with an angrily swishing tail, hissing and batting its paw against a cowering rat that’s thinning and losing its hair in patches from stress, you resist the urge to do a victory dance on the spot. You’ve found Scabbers, cornered against the door to the boy’s dorm by Crookshanks who’s giving him everything he’s got.

How could you be so stupid! All this time you’ve spent scouring the halls for him, when of course he hasn’t left the confines of the Tower. You should’ve known! Before, he had ample opportunities to scuttle past students coming in and out of the Gryffindor Tower, but that’s an awfully difficult task to manage when you’re trying to lead those people into believing you’ve been eaten by a cat. Merlin, what a waste of your time, and it feels wrong to try and use ‘searching for a murderous rat man as a form of cardio’ as an excuse for all the time you’ve wasted.

Putting on the most sympathetic face you can manage, you crouch down, tutting softly. “Aw, Crookshanks, you mean cat!” You say in a hushed voice as to not alert the other students as you push him away from Scabbers, trying not to notice when he begins to dig his claws into your arm for getting in his way. “Leave the poor little rat alone!” Eugh. If only this wasn’t so incriminating, it’d be a great way to prove you aren’t completely terrible at lying.

“Come here, little guy,” you clench your jaw and speak through gritted teeth, trying not to make a face when he scampers onto your hand. Maybe when you become a healer you should start petitioning for better wizard therapy. This is incredibly scarring, and it’s not really something you can bring up to the average muggle therapist. “You poor thing, let’s go get you back to your owner, hm? Nice and safe!” It looks like spending twelve years in the body of the rat has left him easily convinced by shoddy lying.

You hurriedly make your way down the steps, eyes darting around the room for something to put him in so he can’t scratch his way out of your hands. Your eyes land on a clear terrarium sitting under a stack of books on a shelf, inside of it is a plant that looks like it’s on its last legs, the tips of its leaves brown and its petals dried and already fallen. You try to walk towards it as casually as possibly, obscuring Scabbers’ view from where you’re heading the best you can. With one hand, you push the books onto the shelf, haphazardly tossing the plant from the container.

With the container now empty, in a flurry of movements you shove him in, clicking the lock into place and pulling out your wand to charm it with security for added measure, even adding a silencing charm just in case he tries to play _weak ickle rat_ and gain sympathy from someone who sees you carrying around a terrified looking rat in a glass box. You bring the container up to eye level staring down the stunned looking rat, who still doesn’t look to understand what’s happening. He gets the picture soon enough, because when you whisper, “Got you, Peter.” Just loud enough for him to hear, he erupts into a flurry of what you can only imagine is loud screeching as he begins to desperately claw at the glass, leaving slivers of scratches along the sides.

With one last spell to clean up the plant so no one can ask any questions, you leave the Gryffindor Tower and head straight for Sirius.

***

For once, the amount of work given by the teachers has actually come in handy. It’s left everyone far too distracted to take notice of the antics you still can’t believe you’ve gotten yourself into. With everyone holed up inside, regardless of if they’re at dinner or still slumming it in the library, there’s no one left roaming the grounds to see as you toe the line of recklessness and pure stupidity by practically running across the lawn so brazenly for the third time today.

You cut through the Forbidden Forest, hidden within the dense mix of greenery and safely out of sight from anyone who could see you. You’re far enough a distance away where you can slow your pace and not risk being spotted so far from the castle, all while holding a rat that’s presumed dead (even worse, a grown man that’s presumed dead.) You really have it in the bag- until you don’t.

It happens in a split second, so fast that you blink and suddenly the glass container is shattering in your hands as if someone had set off a firework inside of it, shards tearing at the flesh of your palms as the shards fall from your hands. There’s a heavy weight against you, pushing you roughly back onto the ground and knocking the air from your lungs. When your vision clears from the sudden shock, above you, grinning with rat-like features, you find a man you’ve never seen before, but you’ve heard more than enough about to know exactly who it is.

Peter Pettigrew.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t think this through very well. Locking spells and silencing charms and a container made of glass are all very useful against a rat, true- but when that rat has the ability to transform into a grown man? Not so much.

He’s gaunt looking, more so than even Sirius, who has already begun to look healthier despite the way his life has been going so far, and you can only assume it’s the stress of knowing Sirius is so close by eating away at him, with filthy tattered clothes that look like they’re the same ones he was wearing twelve years ago the night he went into hiding. His hair is long, stringy and thinning, his eyes are as beady as they are when he’s a rat, and his teeth are yellowed and far too big for his mouth.

The most important thing you note about him is the fact that he’s looking at you with an odd mixture of fear and condescension, trembling as he points an accusatory finger at you. “Y-You knew!” His stutter is just about as bad as Quirrell’s, and the words come out as a confirmation rather than a question. “Y-You knew all this time, didn’t you? And I’ve seen you, sneaking out of the tower in the middle of the night! S-So you’re in on it, just like that cat; trying to get me to Sirius so he can take me out himself! I won’t- I won’t let you!”

You stare up at him with a heated gaze, mouth pulled back into a snarl. Twelve years as an animagus must’ve done far worse on his mental state than Azkaban did for Sirius, because he’s out of his damn mind. “You pathetic, no good _murderer_! Too much of a coward to face the man who’s spent the past twelve years paying for a crime you committed! How spineless can you be, hiding amongst children?”

Your hand is already reaching towards your wand, but he must’ve seen it coming, leaping down to rip it from your hands. You grab hold of his wrist to stop him, only to have him scratch at you with his overgrown nails, getting a good one right to your cheek, and leaving four (lack of a finger will do that) bloodied cuts right down to the edge of your lips. They’re shallow, and they barely hurt despite the bleeding, but even if they do it’s overshadowed by the pure rage you feel while faced with the man who’s destroyed countless lives.

But now he has the upper hand; holding your wand in his four-fingered hand, and a grin forms on his face; it’s a nasty looking sight, but there’s a flicker of fear that remains visible in his eyes, as if he’s still weighing his options and trying to figure what next move he needs to make that won’t get him killed.

“I could do it! I could kill you right here, right now!” He says threateningly, but when you move to sit up suddenly, he jumps back, the hand holding your wand trembling violently. You clench your jaw, eyes moving from your wand and back to his. “If I did- they wouldn’t even blame me. T-They’d blame him- Sirius! It’d be the final straw for him; they’d be giving him the Dementor’s Kiss as soon as they see him! Killing an innocent student? The horror.”

“Then why don’t you?” You hiss.

“Because there’s no need!” He lets out a noise that you can only assume is his version of a gleeful giggle, and it only sparks more anger in you. “He’ll be done for soon, with or without you there to try and help him, there’s no stopping those Dementors once they find him, and if you’re with him, all the better. They’ll take your soul too! And if you try to reveal my s-secret, no one will ever believe you. Y-You could go right now, run to Dumbledore, and what would you say? You’ve been working with him- him and that cat! Assisting a murderer without proof- like they’d believe you! They’d sooner believe he’s groomed you into doing his bidding than admit they were fooled all this time! You do that, and then you’d be forced to give up Sirius’ location, and I-I’d still be free! And you won’t ever catch me!”

He flings your wand over your head, and before you can catch it or tackle him, or do _anything_ that could stop him in his tracks, he gives you one last disgusting smile that sends a shiver down your spine and transforms back into Scabbers, scurrying away back to the castle. You turn, scrambling towards your wand that landed a few feet behind you and throw spell after spell at the direction he went in, but with no luck as you miss each time, his animagus form completely undetectable in the overgrown grass. A frustrated scream follows suit, ringing out as nothing more than an unheard echo in the desolate forest filled with creatures that could care less about you or the scene that just unfolded.

The closest you’ve got, the closest anyone has gotten to catching Peter, to getting Sirius his freedom, has slipped from your grasp. And now he’s headed right back for the castle.

You can’t help it when angry tears drip down your face. You should’ve just kicked him in the face and been done with it.

You swallow hard, sniffling as you wipe the tears that don’t seem to let up despite your desire for them to do so. You straighten your shoulders, lips formed into a tight line as you begin to start walking again as composed as possible, continuing your way towards the Whomping Willow on autopilot and willing your legs to stop shaking and your chin to stop quivering. You can’t head back, not looking like you do, and not after your run in with Peter.

You need to see Sirius; you need to tell him, to apologize for losing what was the only real chance he’s had so far. Curfew be damned, and after seven years of dealing with Percy and his nosiness, you can be assured that even if your roommates question your absence, they’ll hopefully still cover for you just in case you haven’t been murdered and are intentionally out of bed after hours.

When you finally make your way through the tunnel, Sirius is already making his way down the steps at the sound of the floorboard being pushed away, and the smile he holds only for you when you come back to him falls from his face as soon as he takes in the sight of you disheveled appearance. From the blood on your hands and face, your hair in disarray, with grass strains on your clothes and trails of dried tears still obvious on your cheeks, you must look a right mess.

The color drains from Sirius’ face, and you watch as he goes slack jawed before his face completely hardens, a serious look taking over quickly. He’s by your side in seconds, his eyes move rapidly over your form, scanning you for any more injuries aside from the ones most visible as he pulls you into his arms carefully.

You allow your eyes to close as you rest your head against his chest, listening to his nervous heartbeat as his hand runs soothing circles against the small of your back, while the other cups against the back of your head, holding you close to him.

“[Y/N], what happened?” His voice is as controlled as he can manage, but the veil of calm that he’s trying to put on for you is practically see through, and it’s all that separates his desire to remain calm when faced with your distraught state and his anxiety over what could’ve caused it.

You don’t want to answer, but you know you have to. “I had him, Sirius- I really had him-“ It comes out muffled as you press yourself further against his chest, not wanting him to see as your tears make themselves known to you again.

“Who? You don’t mean-”

You don’t even want to say his name, and a simple nod is all it takes to have Sirius practically shaking with anger. He moves away slightly, a hand still on your back as he leads you to the stairs, guiding you to the bed where he sits you down at the edge. He kneels down in front of you, supportively placing his hands on your knees as he stares at you with furrowed brows.

“Tell me everything.” He says softly, and in spite of his gentle tone, his expression tells a different story. It’s always his eyes; normally a magnetic grey that captivate all that seem to darken several shades, and you know it’s not just the lack of lighting within the confines of the Shrieking Shack that cause it. It’s a cold, faraway look, deadened and hollow that makes you wonder what could be going through his mind to make his face look the way it does; you simply know it doesn’t mean anything good for him.

It must be the stress of not knowing, you conclude, and start with your explanation. “Crookshanks had him cornered, I thought- I thought it was the perfect opportunity. I got him locked away in a terrarium and before I could get him to you, he transformed out of it. He must’ve been waiting until I was far enough away from the castle so no one would see it happen.”

“He transformed? And you faced him all on your own?”

“I tried to… He grabbed my wand before I could do anything; said he could kill me if he wanted, because it’d end up pointing back to you and he still wouldn’t take the blame. But he let me live, knowing that no one would ever believe me and it’d only do you in even more if I went to Dumbledore and tried to explain everything that’s happened.” You look down at your hands in your lap, miniscule shards of glass still sticking out. “I’m sorry- I tried, I really tried, and I messed up; it’s my fault that he got away,” you frown when your voice cracks, only aiding in your failure to keep it together.

“Your fault?” He scoffs, shaking his head. “[Y/N], none of this is your fault. Don’t you dare believe that you’re to blame for any of this. I shouldn’t- Merlin- I shouldn’t have gotten you involved. You could’ve _died_ , [Y/N]. He could’ve killed you right there had he not wanted to make another person suffer by leaving them surrounded by people who refuse to believe he’s to blame and forcing them to have their sanity questioned.”

“But it _is_ my fault,” you stress. “This is killing you, and I had him- I had him! And now he’s probably already back wandering the halls like nothing ever happened.”

“What were you supposed to do, then? He had your wand, [Y/N].”

“I should’ve- I should’ve been more careful-“

“[Y/N], I know you well enough to know that careful isn’t in your vocabulary. I wouldn’t have gotten this close if it wasn’t for your overwhelming lack of care; Merlin, I’d still be nothing more than a freeloading dog to you if it hadn’t been for your recklessness in the first place. You’ve given me hope, [Y/N]. Don’t tell me it’s you that’s losing faith now?”

“Does your ability to handle situations like this calmly really only come out when I’m the one who’s upset?” You ask. “And I hate to break it to you, but you’re still that freeloading dog.”

“You’re special; you should know that by now. So special that I’ll even let you off the hook for that completely unneeded comment. And how does that saying go again? Do as I say, not as I do?”

“A hypocrite’s favorite words of wisdom,” You deadpan.

“I’ll say a lot of things if it gets you to calm down, regardless of if it outing me as a hypocrite.”

Your eye twitches. He is _not_ about to cheer you up by sweet talking you like this. It’s you who gets to do that to him. Not the other way around. “I am calm now. But I’m calm _and_ angry. You can be both, and you of all people know that. Just look at me, I’m completely composed.”

He looks at you with a nonplussed expression. Are you really that unconvincing? Maybe it’s because you’re saying it with tears streaked down your face and an overall appearance that makes it look like you just apparated out of a tornado that has him believing you’re not as okay as you’re trying to let on.

After a moment, he sighs, giving you a small smile as you pulls your head down towards his, allowing him close proximity to plant a chaste kiss against your forehead that’s filled with nothing but the desire to bring you comfort despite his own obvious worry, followed shortly by one onto the tip of your nose that has you letting out a watery laugh. “Stop it; no trying to cheer me up by being a softy when we’re both emotionally compromised right now.”

“I’ve had years of experience with it. But you just faced off a murderer all on your own and came out of it scathed rather than dead. Right now my focus is making sure you’re okay. I’ll start plotting Pettigrew’s murder when you’re better.”

You brush off his joke and the sincerity in which he says it with a soft chuckle, wiping away the last of your tears with your sleeve. “I guess it’s not as bad as it could be. He went running in the direction of the castle as opposed to off the grounds, yeah? So we know he’s still close by. He’s probably inside right now, scrambling through the halls and fearing the next turn he makes he’s going to be faced with Crookshanks again, who’s probably going to be holding a grudge against me over this for the next eternity and a half.” You snort at the thought, tiredly rubbing a hand against your forehead as you shake your head. “I dunno where Peter’s going to go, though. I suspect the safest place would be by Ron’s side, but he sort of did himself in with this whole faking his death thing. There’s not many ways for him to get back into the common room now, and even if he were to transform to get inside, Sir Cadogan has taken to changing the password multiple times a day which makes it practically impossible. There’s even a boy in Harry’s year, Neville, who’s taken to writing them down just to remember. They’re changed so often that sometimes I feel like I should follow his example.”

“Is that so?” He says slowly, and you nod in response, overlooking the vacant expression that takes over on his face.

“Kids in the years below me are always expecting me to remember them when they get stuck outside, but honestly, I’ve just been waiting until someone who can remember it comes around.”

Now that brings a smile to his face, “I suppose catching murderers and enforcing justice on top of studying for exams leaves remembering things as mundane as passwords at the very bottom of your list of priorities.”

“All that brain power doesn’t do much in the ‘catching murderers’ department, it looks like. Maybe I should leave that to the professional likes of Crookshanks.”

“I think you should.” He says honestly, carefully taking your wounded hands into his own and holding them there against your lap. “You are incredibly brave, and so strong, but this plan of you helping catch Pettigrew is done. I can’t forgive myself for allowing you to continue to try and catch him when you’ve risked so much already.”

“But what are you going to do? I can’t just not help,” 

“You help by not getting yourself killed. It’ll be okay, [Y/N],” He assures you. “I’ll make sure of it, I promise.”

You don’t want to read too much into the words he’s using to console you with, and what the intentions behind them could be, but it’s hard not to when those last few are said so seriously, with a look of pure determination on his face. 

***

Sirius doesn’t want you to leave, and you don’t either, but with curfew long passed you know you’ve taken far too much time in seeking solace in his company for one night. While at first you were all too quick to throw caution to the wind and disregard it, your continued absence would only be more of a risk to Sirius if you end up falling asleep and your roommates wake to find your bed untouched and you nowhere to be found. There are only so many excuses your friends could use to get you out of that sort of bind if Percy or Professor McGonagall were to find out.

And, call it wishful thinking, but you’d like to be lucky enough to catch the sight of a certain rat scampering by through the dark of the corridors when you sneak your way back to the Gryffindor Tower, hoping to not mess up twice in the span of one day.

You use a quick spell to rid your hands of the debris that still cling to the now scabbed over wounds; clearing your hands of blood and doing the same to your face, where the most visible cuts fade and vanish from your skin, leaving you free of injuries and free from any possible questions that could arise from such sights. Unfortunately, there are some things magic can’t fix, and the stress of the day still shows in the form of your tired, bloodshot eyes and sluggish movements, making you look a little worse for wear when you take your leave.

When you make it to the Gryffindor Tower, you’re practically dead on your feet after having to drag yourself up multiple sets of merciless stairs that won’t cease their constant changing just for someone who’s too slow to get up the right ones in time. After missing the landing twice, you come to find Sir Cadogan fast asleep inside his painting, a woman from another portrait draped against his metal armor. There’s a brief moment where you consider simply giving up and falling asleep right underneath the portrait. Wouldn’t want to ruin his moment, right? And hey, eventually someone will wake up and trip over your sleeping body on their way to class in the morning, so it’s not like you’d be there for too long.

After genuinely considering it, you decide against hitting rock bottom tonight of all nights, choosing to wake up the knight and suffer through trying to remember the password all for the sake of being able to pass out in the comfort of your own bed.

Just as you’re about to alert him to your presence, you hear a pair of footsteps approach from the steps behind you that has you frozen where you stand. You brace yourself when you swivel on your heel, expecting to be faced with Filch or a teacher that won’t be willing to let you off the hook for being out so late, but instead find Harry, looking like a deer in headlights when your eyes meet his.

“What are you doing out?” He asks in a whisper. “Did Professor Snape catch you?”

You furrow your brows at the mention of the Potions Master. “Snape? What are you going on about? And I’m older, so shouldn’t I be asking _you_ what you’re doing out so late?”

You got him there; he shifts on his feet. “I went to go investigate… something, and he ended up catching me out of bed. Professor Lupin found us and I got told off by him instead. I’d be more upset, but he did save me the trouble of having to clean cauldrons until the end of term as punishment for breaking curfew.” You can’t help but think he might be worse at lying than you, but the late night activities of preteens are the last thing you want to concern yourself with right now, and you’re just glad you managed to avoid being caught by either Professor on your own venture through the castle after dark. “But what were you doing? You look a mess.” He pauses. “Er- no offense.”

You snort. “None taken. I uh- had boy troubles. I snuck out to get some fresh air to try and take my mind off of it. No getting caught for me.” The mention of boy troubles causes him to clear his throat, unsure of how to respond. Ah, youth. “Did you not have the Marauder’s Map? It really does come in handy when you’re out after hours; that’s kind of the whole point, after all.”

Perhaps it’s a trick of the light in the darkness of the castle, but you swear he blanches at the mention of the map. “Y-yeah, I bet that would’ve helped.”

“Sure would. But I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t have it, with two professors lurking the halls in the middle of the night, you could’ve risked the chance of one of them taking it off of you if you weren’t paying attention.”

His eyes flit away from yours as he laughs nervously in response. “That would be a disaster, wouldn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll proofread this eventually, (I say, like a liar.)
> 
> The scene where Harry's caught with the map in the movie is one of my favorites, and it's one of those things I felt would line up well with this story. I think I did okay? It would make sense that Peter would've made his way back into the castle by then and is roaming the halls looking for places to hide again, thus Harry seeing his name on the map like in the movie. And I don't see how he'd be able to get back into the Gryffindor Tower, because if he tries to sneak past people he'd probably be spotted and outed as not being killed by Crookshanks, and he can't exactly claw his way in like some people, nor does he know of anyone who happens to have a list of all the passwords... Gee, who knows where this could be going...
> 
> It's been a while since I asked that question about Sirius, so I have another one since I really love knowing your answers! Who is one of your favorite HP characters and why? I say one, because if you're like me you have a hard time just narrowing it down to a top 5. I find mine changes every time I come back to the ~Wizarding World~ and while it gives me a chance to appreciate each character it also makes it immensely difficult to pick one!
> 
> And yes I know I ramble way too much in these notes but don't feel inclined to read them! I just don't know how to shut up in real life AND online. 
> 
> P.S. the answer to the crossword was millibar in case you were curious. Welcome to Dog Days, where we're always learning new things! :'^) See you guys next time!
> 
> Quick update 2/18/19: (i'll delete this bit when the next chapter gets posted) some stuff is going on IRL for me right now and it's left me in not a great head space for writing which is why my updates have been halted (I am all too aware of that) and my weekly schedule has been tossed to the wind. I just want you to know that this story is by no means being abandoned! The thought hasn't even occurred to me! I hope you can understand and aren't too upset, and I hope the next update doesn't disappoint!


	14. Hiatus For Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please don't read if you get easily upset by certain topics. This story is fluff & humor for the most part and very real subject matters might not be the thing you want to see.

Hi all, I don't know if ~author note~ types of chapters are even allowed on here but I have to give it ago. I will first start off with thank you so much for your patience with me, and thank you for always brightening my day with your kind words for this story. I know that my sudden halt in updates was abrupt with no real good explanation, and I still can't really give one aside from 'man I'm busy' to 'man everything is bad and writing can't be a priority when I am Mentally Malfunctioning' and I'm sure I've made people upset with that since I've now missed three updates, and it'll probably be especially aggravating when I say that the chapter has 8k words to it written out already and the beginning of the one following it done (and I still have the remaining ones planned out) but uh... I have to call it a reason hiatus now for entirely different reasons.

Today, this morning, my dad passed away in the most traumatic way possible. He was only 62, he was literally the anchor of our family and now I have no idea where to go from here. That being said, it's kind of blatantly clear that as much as I love this story, and as much as it is for me every ounce of escapism self indulgent 'I had a bad day and needed to read this cheesy xreader' as it is to you, I have to deal with this. It's just me, my mom and my brother and with no support system backing us I have to take control of this scenario and be the one to take care of it all despite having no idea what comes next.

I don't know what else to say, and it probably seems completely out of whack for me to come and tell you guys this so soon after what happened to my family today but I've done all I can do for tonight and just felt that I should let you all know if you begin to question if this story is abandoned or something happened to me. I was told I'm in shock so I want to make sure I do this now before I forget. Please know that one day I'll come back to this, I assure you. I've put so much love into it and there's still so much left to be written for it and I don't want to abandon it after I've come so far writing it and still have the rest of it ready to be written for you all. 

I never actually shared any personal stuff here but if you ever need to reach me I do have a tumblr, @neverisle. Or if you ever want to you could donate to the ko-fi on my profile here but obviously you don't have to do anything of the sort if you're just here for the story (which I totally understand) Again, I'm sorry I've had to do this, but I hope you can understand that taking care of my family takes precedence.


End file.
